Patchwork People
by GabiWritesJustBecause
Summary: Louis knew cardboard furniture and the carpet biting into his cheek as he tried to sleep, while Harry knew the luxury of a warm bed. Louis could sell drugs faster than a card dealer could shuffle his deck, but Harry believed in flowers and peace and walking barefoot everywhere he could. Louis just wanted to make it to tomorrow. Full summary inside, yeah.
1. Part 1

**Summary:** Louis knew cardboard furniture and the carpet biting into his cheek as he tried to sleep, while Harry knew the luxury of a warm bed.  
Louis could sell drugs faster than a card dealer could shuffle his deck, but Harry believed in flowers and peace and walking barefoot everywhere he could.  
Louis just wanted to make it to tomorrow.

Somehow, they meet in the middle, and once they become a part of each other...well, tearing away the stitching might lead to permanent damage.

Featuring punk, drug dealing Louis with the appropriate number of tattoos and flowerchild, yoga instructor Harry with too many flower crowns at his disposal.

**A/N: **

Wow guys. I can't believe that I am finally, after all the work and sweat and tears, posting this story. I typed the first words on April 8, 2013 but it began a little before that, a week of outlining and deciding just where I wanted it to go and what characters I wanted to bring in and of course what their fate should be.

Needless to say, the story grew in itself, and after close to sixth months of work it's done. I'll save all my nostalgia for the end of the story, probably in another chapter so you can avoid it if you want, but I want to first and foremost thank Leslie, who almost literally made me a writer on May 24, 2011 and Briana for being there when I first proposed the idea of this story. And to Courtney of course, because she made it through some terrible things.

Enough mushiness. All I ask is that you give me some feedback, some kind of something since almost half a year of my life was devoted to it. But if you close this tab with a smile,opt to say nothing, that is plenty.  
I hope you enjoy...  
Xoxoxo

* * *

**Part I: Finding**

_Out that_

_ O the sisters of mercy they are not_

_Departed or gone,_

_They were waiting for me when I thought_

_That I just can't go on_

_**-Sisters of Mercy, Leonard Cohen**_

The promises we don't keep are the most haunting.

One of my earliest memories is of me and my mother, driving through the rougher parts of town for some reason I failed to place now. A forgotten phone, maybe the house key. Mum never really tended to be scatter brained, but she was worn and tired, like fingernails bitten down to the cuticle. She'd reached the end of her line by then, to put it simply, and I couldn't do much but watch helplessly. The girls were at home, so young but I wanted to go. I always loved riding in the car.

The night around us hung thick in almost a tangible way, as if I could stick my hand outside and be dyed with black ink. Mum's schedule had forced me to become a night owl, but as I grew a little older I really came to appreciate the tangible possibility of the night. Everything was drawn sharp and clear during the day. The night was rough sketches that could be erased and redrawn.

As we neared the heart of the disastrous neighborhood, the streetlights that actually worked flickered at random intervals. They cast soft, multicolored shadows across my Mum's face.

When we pulled up to a stop sign, she locked the doors and slowly reached for my hand. I could see why, see them just in my periphery, but I knew better than to look.

"Who are they?" I asked.

When Mum looked, a quick and nervous glance, I surrendered and did as well. They were all in a huddle near a dumpster just inside a little alley. Some were crying, some simply lying there. One repeatedly hit his head across the dumpster. In the darkness, their faces all melted into the dark bricks, their shoes almost vanishing into the puddles left from the late afternoon rain.

My mother fiddled with her seatbelt, deciding best how to reply. I was only four at the time, and Dad still loved us. My world was a perfect bubble of innocence and bedtimes stories and playing soccer in the back yard. No, we were always scrambling for money, digging in the sofa cushions for loose change, but I was content. As she steeled her breath, I could see her deliberating. Bust that bubble, shatter the snow globe covering me, or let me be. Let me dream a little longer?

She managed to answer, only leaving a few cracks.

"Those are very sad people that have lost something, and they'll do anything to get it back. That includes hurting people. If you ever see them, run as fast as you can."

That was a moot point. Mum clung to me every time we had to go to this part of town. Her dry cleaning business lay just on the other side, where things started to look up again in terms of building stability and likelihood of not getting robbed.

"Promise me," she said, rather fiercely. She didn't move the car, even though no other cars were nearby. We could go, we didn't have to stay. But I'm glad we did. As it began to rain again, those pained faces blurred away, until they were just faint smudges of shapes. Hard to think of as people with stories and a past with pain. It was hard to think that they had mothers once that they made empty promises to.

"Promise what?"

Thinking back to how her face broke, I understand how much innocence I must have had. I hated that for her, hated that I ruined everything that she ever hoped for me.

"Promise me you will never approach those people."

"Promise," I said without a pause, only so that she would relieve the tight grip on my arm.

I hated breaking my promise. The guilt of that consumed me.

Even seventeen years later, I still thought of promising her, without knowing what my words encompassed. She lived a few more years after that, but each was so much worse than the last. We didn't speak of that promise again, but I broke it all the same.

_I think so much of her that I find myself sitting cross-legged at her grave on a cold winter night, nearly 20 years later, thinking back to three years ago and how I really need to tell her._

_Before the end began, my dreams were red boot prints in the snow and a frantic wind pulling at my torn skin. There are flashes of things that matter and gaps of things that don't. A voice calling to me from a car, a figure smiling down at me, saying, "You'll owe me" and of course I would owe him._

_Owing him something ending up rewarding me more than I thought._

_But before there was good there was cold and a pain in my gut as I pulled from a crushed vehicle, spitting blood into the snow and watching a man stand by, eyes interested but not concerned. The bloody boot prints he left behind._

_I remember that now, even with my coat tucked tight around me. I bend and gently dust away the dirt from her headstone. The gesture is tender, reminds me of the way she'd stroke my hair when she read me bedtimes stories._

_Overall, I'm a mess, but I'm the calmest I've been in so long. I reach out and brush my fingers over her grave, trying to imagine the sun's warmth as some remaining part of her. The headstone has gone cold though._

"_Hello, Mum."_

_I almost hear her, almost see her turning around at the stove, wiping her hands on the stained and tattered apron._

"_Hello yourself, Boobear."_

_I'm only answered by the wind. _

"_It's been a mess these past few years, huh? I really don't know where to begin. I wanted to wait and tell you when things settled down, when I could get here and get all my thoughts together."_

_I sit on the ground, tracing back everything in my mind. The prospect that my mother could not even hear me crossed my thoughts of course, but it felt good to sit there and talk to her like she was. I hadn't had much to say before, had even been scared that saying it aloud would make the disappoint she'd feel in me more real. _

"_Things were rough, and then great, then terrible. You know how bad it was after you died, with me staying with Zayn all the time and then of course when we started making those awful decisions. But maybe I can start on a more positive day, one you probably would appreciate more. I'm really sorry I can't give you a happy ending, though."_

_The headstone doesn't have much to say, but my mind already feels so much clearer. I've needed to get all this weight off my chest for so long. People were waiting for me. This town can't be one I stay at for longer than a day; it's too obvious. He'd find me here, drag me back to square one._

_I shouldn't even be back here, but I'd skirted around __**those**__ houses, avoided coming out during the day. I can't take chances here. What if I were to run into one of them?_

"_I'll have to be bit jumpy here, Mum. Have to save a little bit of time. I just wanted you to know I had something real and something very good for a long while and even though things aren't so good right now….it's okay. One good, rich memory can last a poor man a long time. A thousand good memories can make a rich man miss being poor."_

_I take a deep breath, send my mind racing back to the days when things were better, and I found the one moment where I could begin my shit story on a positive note._

"_It all really started when Harvey insisted on us eating at the Mexican restaurant, even though we all knew what the consequence would be….."_

**Colversville, England**

**2013**

"Get the fuck out of the bathroom, Zayn!"

Harvey fell to the floor with a vague moan, clutching at his pudgy stomach. His red hair splayed across the stained white carpet like a fan of fire. That hair garnered a lot of teasing, but some clients were more eager to buy their choice drug from someone who looked innocent. With his pale skin, freckles, and rounded face, Harvey looked like that teenage boy who tugged awkwardly at his gym shorts and got picked last for games.

Especially at the given moment of him rolling on the floor screaming.

"We mean it!" I chimed in, for the sake of the carpet. Harvey wouldn't last much longer, by the looks of it.

"I have to go out tonight!" Zayn called out lazily. "Do you want Bumper to come over here and kick my ass for not selling the quota?"

"At this moment, yes," Luca muttered from the couch. He stretched his neck from side to side and sighed. "But seriously, get out of there. His bitching is getting annoying."

People who saw Luca coming usually turned and went the other way, but he didn't scare any of us enough that we believed his harsh words.

Muscular and black, and, like the rest of us, covered in tattoos, he preferred his hair shaved and everything painfully simple and sorted out into neat little time slots.

When we'd sell, how our money would go….he even had these little jars lined up against the wall of our living room, labeled accordingly. The 'Grocery' jar had dwindled down to a few pennies while the 'entertainment' jar was flush with cash. We had our priorities straight around here.

"Zayn!" Luca yelled, raising his voice over Harvey's grunts of pain. If I was getting sick of hearing his name being yelled, he had to be as well. "You know perfectly well Harvey doesn't handle Mexican food well at all. You can't claim the bathroom right after a dinner like that."

"It was a good one," Reggie said with a wistful sigh. He sat on the floor, knitting. If anyone ever found out Reggie, bad boy with black hair, snakebites, and a literal portrait of the devil on his back, knitted, he would kill us all. "Why can't we have more meals like that?"

"We don't all win the lottery every night," I reminded them, only boasting a little. I surrendered helping Harvey and flopped down on the couch near Luca, wincing at the springs that prodded through the rough fabric.

"It wasn't really the lottery," Reggie snapped. "It was those scratch cards you steal from the gas station. And besides, I helped you win."

"You did," I conceded, only a bit churlishly. "But where did all of poor Louis's earnings go? One box of hair dye after the bills were paid. And you took a chunk of it for new knitting needles." I rolled my eyes. "Because we desperately needed them."

"I don't knit," he replied in an even, bored voice.

Luca rubbed at his temples and turned to look over the couch again, towards the bathroom where Zayn had still not emerged. The bathroom was just off the living room, so we couldn't much escape the drama unfolding. Our flat was small, enough that one person alone wouldn't have much breathing room. But we were all short of cash, all desperate, and all in need of someone to understand the situation. After all, most drug dealers weren't smiled upon.

Unless you were those ghostly people I had seen with my mother all those years ago. To them, we were angels.

The flat originally belonged to just me and Zayn. We'd always agreed to live together after high school, me to escape my hellish aunt and uncle and Zayn to escape his abusive father. We'd moved without a goodbye, and had received not a word from our respective families since.

Then Harvey showed up, having been removed from his job selling camping gear for rich people wanting to test the wild. Zayn knew him distantly, from one of many flings. He showed up to sleep on our couch and stayed, forcing me and Zayn to sleep on the same mattress on the floor of the only closet sized bedroom. Then Reggie showed up, a friend of Harvey's and fresh from rehab and the youngest of us all at seventeen, even though everyone pinned Harvey for the youngest due to his baby face. Discussing their situations wasn't easy for any of us, mainly because whenever the past was brought up Harvey got teary eyed and Reggie's signature snarled to resemble a rabid Doberman's.

Luca got out of jail after petty car theft, but not many places were willing to take him in. We knew him vaguely from a few deals and agreed he would be a nice addition. At this point, Bumper had already found us, had already begun training us to sell and bring him the majority of profits.

When Bumper proposed making us a sales team, we didn't hesitate. Each of us had a different appeal, and although I thought little of myself, I knew I could at least make people feel at ease while I ruined their lives.

Surviving each other, however, was a different matter.

"Zayn, if you don't emerge from the bathroom right now, I will let Harvey shit on your belongings."

Luca smirked in triumph as Zayn finally emerged, hands still working at his hair. Harvey pushed past him, slamming the door behind him and letting out a strangled sob.

"I gave up the bed for you and Reggie to share and this is how you treat me?"

Zayn ruefully shook his head and crouched over the corner of the flat were we tossed all our belongings.

"Reggie snores. I'd rather have the couch." Luca could say these things without anyone really being offended. He didn't mean it as an insult, just a solid fact.

"Mine!" Harvey called from the bathroom.

Zayn and I slept on pallets in the floor, moving around the flat constantly trying to find the most comfortable spot. We camped out in the kitchen most nights, but I'd spent my fair share of time sleeping in the bathtub or in the hallway. Once on the roof.

"Whatever. Reggie, did you call about getting a TV?" Zayn pushed at his hair some more, as if worried the gallon of gel he'd used would fail him.

"We don't have to money for that," I interrupted, squashing that thought before anyone could get their hopes up. "And you know it. Unless Bumper ups our profits, we are going to have to stick to fine literature." Zayn cast a furtive glance at the 'entertainment' jar, but kept his mouth shut.

"Ugh." Reggie made a face suggesting he might be able to smell Harvey in the bathroom. "I hate reading."

"Then teach us to knit," Luca said seriously. "Teach us to knit and I'll go buy some aprons and we can learn to bake from Zayn."

Reggie curled his lip as a piece of yarn slipped from his grasp and onto the floor. He really probably liked the idea of Zayn teaching him to bake, because the bastard was really excellent at it, but that would mean adding things to our list of groceries and we couldn't afford that.

It felt much like a terrible joke where you had to laugh or you might just cry; five lads are sharing a cheap flat and selling class drugs, and they can't afford a television or basically anything besides their tattoos and new body jewelry. But the painful fact was that Bumper took almost everything that we made, without a second thought, without a thank you, without ever bringing a raise to our attention.

In the end, when we had spare cash, we didn't much know what to do with it. It wasn't enough for something permanent like a TV. We usually ended up at the movies or eating out somewhere, or dropping it into the tiny (Luca had made sure to make it small, lest we were tempted) jar labeled 'tattoos'. Despite his efforts to get us to spend money on more experiences, we usually ended up in the tattoo parlor several times a month.

"I don't want to bake either," Reggie finally said. "I want Zayn to stop sizing us up like we're choice cuts."

Zayn righted himself, scarf in hand. He wound it around his neck and scanned each of us in turn, in a way matching Reggie's description.

"I know what you're thinking," Luca said without turning around. "And I am not helping you tonight. You should have sold the last of it yesterday and you know it."

"Fine," Zayn huffed, hardly fazed. "Louis, dear best friend?"

Luca watched me from the corner of his eyes and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. I understood what he was trying to tell me. We needed to let Zayn make his own mistakes, but Luca hadn't seen the Bumper that I knew, nor had Reggie and certainly not Harvey. Zayn had glimpsed the darker side of him, and despite the way he casually typed off a text message, I could see the raw panic behind Zayn's eyes at the thought of seeing it again. If Bumper found out Zayn hadn't sold everything, he would be in a heap of trouble.

"Yeah, let me grab my shoes," I said, trying to be casual. Zayn hated pity.

"Your 'TOMS' are in the kitchen." Luca wrinkled his nose just a little.

"They are Toms," I replied defensively, getting up to retrieve them. "They look like them don't they?"

"You bought them from a thrift shop," Reggie muttered. He always had some form of commentary going just under his breath, normally leaning toward snide or, more often than not, downright rude. "So technically, they're knockoffs."

"I hate you right now, but I understand your jealousy of my top of the line footwear. Despite that, I hope all the knitting needles you possess break."

"Fuck you, Tomlinson," he replied cheerfully. "Next time we go see a horror movie, you get to sit next to Harvey." A smirk of satisfaction curled his lips as he took in my look of terror. Sitting next to Harvey would bring more nightmares than the actual horror movie.

The kid couldn't help how innocent and naïve he was. Those traits don't blend well into the world we'd taken to, but there really couldn't be a better way to describe him. When it came to horror movies, whoever had the misfortune to sit next to him would have to submit their arm to the torture of his fingernails and his relentless questions about what would happen next, even though, obviously, you'd have to reply, "I don't _know,_ Harvey. I'm watching the movie for the first time, too."

"We're leaving, Zayn. Right now. Before Reggie decides more forms of torture. Like making us-God forbid-knit. Could you imagine a more terrible thing to do with your spare time?"

I ducked into the kitchen, muffling my laughter as Reggie began screaming a string of curse words my way. He didn't mean a single one of them, but I couldn't help but to feel it was best I grab my shoes and go before we ended up in another wrestling match.

"What are you lads going to do while we sell?" Zayn asked, shaking a cigarette loose from his pack. I reached for one, but he held the pack over his head, never breaking his gaze away from Luca, as Reggie was steaming with annoyance with Harvey was too preoccupied to answer.

"When Reggie finishes this pair of socks? Go dumpster diving for more furniture. I'm thinking we could use another bookshelf?"

He gestured to the corner of the living area, were we had a pile of cardboard boxes. In our spare time, we did our best to construct things that sort of looked like furniture with them. Harvey was best at it, but it appeared he would be occupied in the loo for a while.

"I actually need a new hat, Reg," I said, giving up on snatching a cigarette from Zayn.

"I would help you, but knitting is a waste of time."

I bit my lip and tried to find a graceful way out of the situation. Reggie made our hats, socks, scarves, and gloves. Even made us all these neat hoodies for Christmas last year, but he'd had to work his arse off for the money for all the yarn. If he really wouldn't make me another hat, I would survive, and I would do so without letting him know that I really did need one.

"Right, how could I forget that? See ya lads!"

Just as Zayn and I were walking out the door, Reggie yelled, "Black or red?"

With a sense of mingled satisfaction and-I'd never admit it aloud-affection, I yelled back, "Black!"

Zayn merely rolled his eyes and pushed me ahead of him, slamming the door after bidding them a final farewell. Outside, a soft coolness hung in the air, with the wind rattling any object in its path and sending leaves racing down the street.

"This neighborhood is almost pretty sometimes," I remarked. "Until you remember where it is."

Zayn grunted in what I decided had to be agreement.

Luca had the only car, which was currently out of commission, so we set off on foot. Where we lived, everyone was just waking up as the moon peeked over the rooftops. They peered out through their windows with crooked blinds before easing out their front doors and disappearing around corners like alley cats. A few men were having a heated argument that broke into a fist fight just at the edge of our road.

"Is that Donny?" I asked, squinting. The few people that bothered to turn their lights on drew their curtains when they heard the noise. "Yeah, it is. And he just got out of jail, too."

"What was in for last time? I forgot." Zayn started on another cigarette before shoving his hands in the pockets of his beat-up leather jacket.

"Ummm. I think it was something trivial. Armed robbery, maybe?"

"Ah."

"Say, you wanna tell me where we are going? Since I'm taking time out of my busy schedule to help you and all?"

We walked in silence for a length of time before Zayn finally decided to answer. He got in these moods at the most random times, where he would be laughing and joking and eager to go to clubs to find new people to hook up with. Then he would shrink away, become distant. There would be hours were he'd sketch things you'd think would take a half second: trees, an image of the sky, or maybe a pair of hands. He'd designed a few tattoos of mine.

Then he'd be social, wild, bringing home several girls in one night and forcing us to head outside and pretend we didn't hear the party going on in the single bedroom.

"I thought I'd try the park," he said. Just a little tentative. "I have a few usual customers I haven't heard from in a few weeks. I'm crossing my fingers that they're feeling desperate."

I watched him curiously as we walked, and he knew I was watching him but he didn't comment until he became sick of my staring and shoved a cigarette at me. Though I took it gratefully, I wasn't done trying to pinpoint the problem. It drove me crazy not knowing stuff, especially people I should know stuff about.

"Take a picture, Lou. It will last longer."

"I can't afford a camera and I wouldn't waste any film on your ugly mug even if I could. So cut to the point of your episode here and tell me what's gotten into you."

For the barest of seconds, he had every intention to tell me. He opened his mouth, lips trembling, before he shook his head and changed his mind.

"It's nothing. We just need to get this stuff sold fast."

It wasn't until we were nearing the park, taking the back way to avoid the cop that patrolled nightly, that it just hit me. I had stopped trying to place it entirely when it simply dropped from the sky and into my head.

"You haven't sold anything this week, have you?"

Zayn looked indignantly at me before surrendering and shrugging half-heartedly. "I was distracted."

"And Bumper knows you haven't sold anything."

"Bumper knows I haven't sold anything," he repeated, as a confirmation. "And no, he isn't happy."

"For God's sake Zayn. What could possibly be distracting you? Don't tell me you've fallen in love with a prostitute."

Though he didn't answer, and I could have taken that as a yes, I surmised from his distracted stare that he hadn't even considered such a thing. Well, that was good at least. Harvey had fallen in love with a stripper once, poor kid. It took the longest time for him to understand that girls like that would do a lot to get their money. Not that we could exactly preach about anything. Especially morals in regards to earning money.

"I don't see anyone."

Bumper must have really let loose if Zayn sounded so panicked just from seeing the empty park. And it was, clearly, empty. The swings gently swayed in the breeze, and a few stray leaves rode the merry-go-round, but otherwise there was nothing in sight.

"Your move," I told him. Mentally, I was trying to place where a few customers would be. On a Sunday night, we had a few church goers that slipped away to bars to escape their nagging wives, but the time had passed for that opportunity.

"Let's walk around. Swing for a little."

I stared at him. "Bumper is going to kill you in the morning and you want to swing?"

"I do."

"Off we go, then, mate. I call the red one."

Just as we approached, however, Zayn froze with such brusqueness I felt a pang of fear. He stood, all tense muscles and focused eyes, much like a dog spotting something it didn't much like and had every intention to chase.

"Zayn? What's wrong?"

"Listen," he hissed. "Dammit all."

I obeyed, not expecting to actually hear anything. But there it was; the distant sound of music being blasted form a car stereo, as well as floating laughter that congregated in the night, catching on the lowest tree branches.

"Are those the hippies that Reggie complains about?" I asked, brimming with curiosity. Reggie cursed their names up and down, because they were supposed to be stoners for fuck's sake but they never bought a damn thing from us. I'd never had the unpleasant experience of meeting them, since the park wasn't my choice selling spot. Zayn had met one of them, just once, and the hippie had tried to tell him how to make his life better and how to pull him out of the spiraling path to hell he was on.

"They are. They have to be. I swear if that one guy is here…."

"You want to give them a go? They might have changed their minds."

"Absolutely not." Zayn let out a half-laugh. "I hate the bastards."

"Do you hate them more than you hate the thought of Bumper finding out that-"

"Fine."

Zayn stalked towards the music-an old Beatles song by the sound of it-muttering under his breath about how much his life sucked sometimes. I followed, keeping my mouth shut in case he turned his bad mood on me. And-this really fell under mushy things I hated admitting-I felt panicked for him. I refused to let either of us head home until we'd sold everything.

I'd buy some myself if I had to and just wait to buy the other box of red hair dye I needed.

The group of hippies were not, technically, hippies. Not by anyone else's standards, at least, because most people agreed that hippies camped out at music festivals and were permanently stoned or trying a new drug. This group, according to Reggie, wouldn't touch drugs but fit the bill just about everywhere else. No shoes, flowers in their hair, baggy shirts with deep V-necks, and a disgusting appreciation for life.

They were constantly playing music, whether out loud or in their heads, and, even worse, dancing to it. Luca told me once he'd seen them at one of our town's many festivals and they had been playing drums and doing interpretive dancing before handing out pamphlets on recycled paper about how the world should embrace peace and consider it a treasure more valuable than gold. Barf.

Personally, I wouldn't even know how to react to the lot of them.

So, okay, maybe I was just a tiny (infinitesimal) bit wary of what they might be like through my own eyes and not Reggie's. Well, turned out we saw pretty much the same thing for once.

They were huddled around the back of a van in one of the parking lots, the one near where the food venders parked their trailers. Five of them total, each completely different and exactly the same. As we approached, Zayn groaned and I knew the one that had lectured him must be here. But which one? My eyes flickered to each of them, taking in their features and dopey smiles. Well, four of them and the one huddled under a blanket in the back of the van, mostly obscured from view.

"Haven't we already told ya how we feel about that stuff?"

A short boy stepped forward just as we approached, lazily crossing his arms, like we weren't worth even trying to be menacing towards. He had an unkempt look to him, with unruly, dirty blond hair and an unshaven face. The overbearing facial hair made him seem older than his teens, but his eyes told me he couldn't be a day older than seventeen.

From the fire in Zayn's eyes, I took a shot in the dark and assumed that we'd found the hippie that had lectured Zayn.

"You told me how you felt, bud, but not the rest of your clique."

"We feel the same." A muscular boy with a shaved head and warm brown eyes regarded the both of us with polite interest. "But it's starting to get cold out, ya know. Autumn's almost here. Want to sit with us?"

"We can't," Zayn replied promptly, for which I was grateful. "I have to get back home and write out my suicide note."

The group shared alarmed expressions when Zayn gave no signs of joking. Sadly enough, I wouldn't blame him. Once Bumper found out….

"You don't have to do that, now." A boy with tousled blond hair and an obnoxiously obvious Irish accent stepped forward, twirling a flower beneath his pointer and middle finger. "Nothing can ever be that bad. You comprehend, mate?"

"I envy their stupidity." Zayn rubbed both hands down his face and heaved a sigh. "Let's go. I have no idea what we were even thinking by trying this lot."

The group watched us before shrugging, turning inward towards the van and carrying on with their conversation as if we had never even shown up. That was for the best. People needed to forget us the second they knew us. In my world, leaving permanent marks and ties proved to be catastrophic, especially if those ties led to the outside world.

We would never be parents. That much we'd all agreed on. We'd never have children, never have a normal, cookie cutter routine. There would be no parent-teacher meetings, no shopping at the grocery store for anyone but ourselves, no backyard cook outs. We would never get anything permanent, not even each other. As much as we hated that, we knew there would come a time where we'd break apart. Like an ice drift, slowly crumbling away, losing its pieces to an unforgiving sea.

And no one would ever be able to ask us, "What do you do for a living?" without us lying.

So no, I never expected anything out of my life, and unquestionably not that moment.

Frankly, I could have turned away from them right then. Walked away, went home and bought some of Zayn's drugs to lesser the blow from Bumper. I could have carried on struggling but enjoying the company of the idiots around me until I grew old(er) and died, probably in some motel bathroom.

Also, believe me when I say that I didn't believe in fate. I didn't believe in love or romance because it is proven emotionally, scientifically, and physically, that all good things will end. But for whatever reason, I stuck around just a few seconds longer, my off-brand Toms frozen to the asphalt that was sticky from gum. Zayn lit up yet another cigarette behind me, and it was in perfect synch with the flicking if his lighter that the bundle in the back of the van threw the blanket away up as if jolted awake by someone.

The blanket pooled on the van's orange carpet, revealing a young boy with big green eyes and a mess of dark curly hair that stuck up in several directions at once. A circle of flowers hung crookedly on his head, one of the petals brushing at his sleep-heavy eyes.

"What's going on?" he asked in a voice raspy and thick.

As if I'd spoken, his eyes flickered past his friends and fixed on me with faint interest.

"Louis?" Zayn's voice sounded far, far away. The boy's wide, pink lips stretched into a lazy smile at my name. Like he cared, like he was interested.

But I couldn't process it fully. It felt like I'd just woken up to find myself falling off the couch, and even though I knew I was falling and I tried to catch myself it was a bit too late. My stomach clenched almost painfully as I looked at him, trying to claw my way back to reality, trying to understand what the hell was happening to me.

"Are you coming or what?" Zayn's voice broke the spell, suddenly loud and persistent, like I'd been hearing him underwater before.

"I am," I croaked. "I just thought Curly over there might want to buy something."

"He doesn't want anything either," said the hippie with long blond hair. I could hear him, but I didn't care. My brain catalogued him as a distraction at best. The boy with curly hair righted with wreath of white flowers on his hair and shrugged.

"Sorry. That's not my style. And Liam and Niall would kill me. Right, Li?"

"Damn right," said the boy with the shaved hair. The Irish one, presumably Niall, nodded sternly as well, though he didn't seem as strict.

"Time for you to leave," blondie growled waving his hand at us and sounding distinctively pissed off. "You've interrupted Harry's nap and you're pissing us all off."

"They aren't harming anyone," Harry protested. "Just asking questions."

Harry. His name was Harry. I studied him with unabashed interest, wondering why he'd woken up suddenly, why he needed naps. Why the blond jerk hippie was so protective of him.

"They need to go," blondie insisted.

"You do have somewhere to be soon, Harry," Niall pointed out.

Neither he nor Liam looked happy about whatever Harry had to do. To my delight, Harry glanced over at me again and shrugged.

"I don't need to go. So let them stay with us for a bit."

Liam appeared to be torn between delight and anxiety.

"I'm not sure it's the best idea since…."

"No, we need to go," Zayn agreed. For some reason, he glanced uneasily at Niall and Liam. Maybe they'd yelled at him too and he'd never mentioned it. "Nice seeing you all again. It's been a proper pleasure."

He kept a tight grip on my upper arm as he guided me a different way out of the park, past the van and towards the clubs in town. We could both feel the tension in the air, and all their gazes on our backs as we headed up the hill.

"Don't look back at them, Lou. I know you're thinking of it."

"I'm not," I objected. "They aren't worth even looking at in the first place."

And Zayn, who knew me just a tad too well, said, "One of them was for you, I'd bet."

"Piss off."

But I felt it, no matter what I said. I wanted to look back really bad, not out of curiosity or interest exactly, but just because I could stare if I damn well pleased, right? Still, I resisted, cresting the hill and blinking in the lights of the town. From behind me, I heard a chorus of laughter ring up. I swear that, despite the few seconds we had interacted, I could hear Harry's above all the others.

"Don't look back," Zayn warned again. And I didn't, even when I heard the Irish lad, Niall. yell, "For God's sake, quit your staring Harry. That lot is trouble and you know it."

I didn't get the privilege to hear his response, but that is for the best.

The last thing I needed was some crush on a guy like that. No matter how attractive or cute he looked rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Zayn agreed to listen to me after that, and we headed towards my parts of town; clubs.

Once inside a favorite place of mine, I could forget about the hippies and get to work. Even though Sunday was a slower day, a decent sized crowd still hung near the bar, jostling the bartender for one more shot of liquor. Swaths of people were on the dance floor, flirting and clearly beyond intoxicated. The Sunday were harder to deal with, mainly because they didn't want to go to work still feeling the effect of drugs, but enough charm and the right amount of encouragement could get us a respectable chunk sold.

A girl with long, bright blond hair bought a dime bag of weed from Zayn after he all but seduced her into doing so. She would be too drunk to remember him by the time the sun rose. Her college friends ended up taking it, lighting up right at the bar until the bouncer threw them out. When they pointed their fingers at us, we shrugged and feigned the utmost innocence.

I was particularly gifted at the 'what-the-fuck-are-they-talking-about' look.

A few more hours, and I managed to convince this boy from a local university that cocaine would be the best thing that ever happened to him. Between him and four other college girls trying to live up to every party movie ever, we sold almost everything. The girls were buying for a whole party, and the boy clearly figured he'd like cocaine as much as I told him he would. We chatted for a bit, while Zayn danced with a few older girls that tweaked his cheeks and made invitations for him to join them for the rest of the night. He wouldn't go. Not tonight, while he was still so stressed.

"Your friend is getting a lot of attention," the boy next to me said, tucking the bag into his coat pocket. "Weird, because I think you're more attractive."

"Gee thanks," I laughed, but then I realized he was dead serious.

"Oh, I'm not…that way," I finished lamely.

Okay, I was a raging liar as well. I'd had a few girls in my life, and two boys. One was a prostitute. But having a good roll in the sheets with them was far and above different from having a relationship with a boy. Or a girl for that matter. When I told him I wasn't 'that way' I was merely saying I couldn't afford any attachments.

"I'm not either." He shrugged, causal, but underneath the bar his fingers slid over my thigh. When I didn't immediately flinch, away, he moved higher, fingers grazing over my hip bone.

"One night?" he asked, voice whispery and soft. I couldn't help but be impressed by his directness and confidence.

And his eyes were green.

I opened my mouth, to say okay but it would have to be at his place, when Zayn emerged from nowhere and all but yanked me off the stool.

"Zayn, what the fuck?" I sputtered.

"Cops. Those bitches squealed."

"Guess this is goodbye," the boy said, shaking his head like it really was a shame I was leaving. To be fair, I spared him one glance. More than I would have given most other people, and a lot more than I'd given Harry. The difference between the two was that once I started running, I didn't have the sickening urge to look back.

In fact, it was a relief to let the back exit door slam behind me.

In the alley, the night had grown even colder. A welcome relief on my flushed skin, really, but now I would be up all night trying to forget about Harry while at the same time trying to control my hormones.

"Close one," Zayn uttered, clutching at his side. He was still winded from dancing.

I opened my mouth to agree when a lone figure emerged from around the dumpster and peered at us. His presence was so unexpected both Zayn and I gave a start of surprise.

"Fuck!" Zayn placed a hand over his heart.

"Not what I want," the figure said humorlessly. He inched closer to us, the illuminated exit sign casting slanted shadow over his sickly face. One of those people, like I'd seen with my mother so long ago. The desperate ones that saw us as saints.

"How much?" Zayn asked, casting an apprehensive glance to the end of the alley. The cops would invariably check here, but if we could get a quick sale in it would be a blessing.

"All you have." The man wrung his hands nervously, his perpetual tremor worsening. "I want it all."

This would be the point where Zayn and I took precautions. Ask how much he'd had that night, ask if he really needed it all. Even raise the prices, make it out of his grasp, to maybe save him some grief later on. We weren't all bad, after all. But when Zayn named the highest price yet for so little, the man took out a crumpled wad of cash and shoved it at us.

"Are you serious?" Zayn asked hoarsely. I stared as well. Even with Bumper's cut, we'd have enough alone there for groceries. Maybe even a portion of the bills.

"Hand it over. Please."

The man stumbled and grabbed at Zayn's jacket, nearly falling.

"Sure thing, buddy."

He dug the last of it out and pushed it towards the guy. Once it was in his hands, he took off, out of the alley and around the corner. I wondered where he was going, and why the hell he was hanging around the dumpster behind a club.

"Wow."

"I know," I agreed. "But we need to go. Text Bumper and tell him you sold it all and let's get to bed."

But even as we fell into our pallets on the floor, even after Reggie began to snore in the little bedroom, I wondered about the group of hippies in the park. We were all guilty of having a hang up at least once. Harvey's had been the stripper, and Zayn had favored a prostitute named Summer for several weeks before she vanished without a word. And even though Zayn and I had brought back male prostitutes, and the boys never questioned it, I felt guilty for thinking of Harry.

So I barred him from my waking conscious, told myself that I would probably never see him again. If I did, it would probably be on the street or in a store, and we would pass one another with no reason to say hi.

I managed to fall asleep when the sun's first rays prodded their way through our slanted blinds, cutting golden paths across the stained tiles of the kitchen floor. I fell asleep watching the dust motes swirl lazily, as I desperately told myself that Harry, whatever the fuck his last name was, certainly wasn't thinking about me.

Which was just fine. I wasn't thinking about him, either.

Most of the time, we sleep a good chunk of the day away, wake up, exercise, then sell. On the safe days, the days after we turn our money into Bumper-or rather I turn it in and they wait for me back at the house-we bum around and spend every penny out of the entertainment jar.

Sometimes, I felt like we belonged on a nature show or some shit. Like we were our own breed, our own sub species of humans that had nocturnal habits and stupid stuff like that. I'd mentioned it to Zayn once, and he'd laughed for a second before stopping and realizing I was right. Our bodies had adapted to our odd habits, the lack of food but the extra push of more weights.

So when Luca shook me awake the next day at three in the afternoon, I hadn't slept my fill. Needless to say, I wasn't pleasant.

"The fuck, Luca?"

After I swatted his hands away from my shoulders, I pulled my cover over my head. I regretted it instantly. The false autumn of yesterday gave way now to a full remembrance of summer. It was sweltering inside our flat.

"Don't fucking cuss, Louis. We have a problem. Now get your ass up and get in the living room."

Luca called these meetings all the time. For whatever reason, he ended up being labeled the responsible one out of all of us, even though he was the only one to ever go to jail and actually stay for more than a week. When we mentioned that, he defensively explained the car he stole belonged to a rich man having an affair. He didn't need anything good in his life, right? Or at least that was the story he told most people, and us some times when he forgot we knew the real story.

In the living room, Reggie rubbed his forehead and yawned. Often, he wore his black crotchet beanie to bed, a weird habit but a habit we were all used to. Harvey nodded off, chin drooping towards his chest before he let out an odd snort and jerked up. Then, he smacked his lips and watched Luca with a blearly expression I'd seen before; on a cow chewing cud.

Zayn stared blankly ahead.

"What is it?"

I settled on the arm of the couch, watching Luca pace in front of us with his hands clenched behind his pack.

"We've got a dead one," he finally said, with no warning or further prodding.

Harvey sat up straighter, blue eyes stretching wide as he looked at each of us in turn. His gaze lingered on Zayn and me longest.

"Ours?" Zayn whispered. He'd guessed it.

Luca halted, directly in front of the couch. Even though he did his absolute best to appear as if he could care less, he looked away with a hollow expression as he answered.

"Yours. And Louis's."

"Who?" I demanded. But already my mind was flashing, pulling up their faces like playing cards. The man behind the dumpster. There couldn't be any other.

"His name was Greg Horan," Luca said with the same even, calming tone. He knew I had found his face in my mind. "And Bumper is furious. Apparently he was a black-listed customer…."

"Mine," Harvey piped up, picking at the loose skin around his fingernails. "He was trying to get clean. Told me to bug off the last time I approached him. But yeah, I remember his name. I remember his face, too. Before he straightened up I would always meet him behind the club…."

He trailed off, taking in our expressions and inferring that the location Zayn and I met him was the same.

"He was threatening to call the cops on us," Luca continued, sparing one sympathetic glance for Harvey. "But what's done is done. Now, we have a bigger problem."

"You are going to keep yammering and not let us go back to sleep?"

Reggie tugged his beanie directly over his eyes.

"You can sleep in a moment. But we have to deal with the bigger picture here. Bumper told us to stop selling for a little while."

If any of us were even half-asleep, we were all certainly awake now, mouths hanging open at the pure absurdity of the thought of what Luca said. Stop selling? We couldn't. We'd be broke and starving within two weeks, taking our pile of cardboard and settling down in a nice alleyway with all our old customers. This had to be a joke.

"What else are we supposed to do?" Reggie tore his beanie off and wrung it between his hands. "We can't just jump out there and…" he lowered his voice, as if the next words were blasphemous. "…get jobs."

"Why not?" Harvey asked. "We had them before."

"That was before I went to rehab! That's on my record, Harv. People don't like psychos working for them. They don't like nose rings." He gestured towards Harvey's. "They hate eyebrow rings and sleeves." He pointed a hand at me. "Gages? Forget it." Zayn probed his, growing defensive.

"They're small! They won't even matter."

"…And they are probably going to be really hesitant over someone with jail time. Now add tattoos, piercings, jail time, and my rehab together. Do we really have a chance?"

We all sat there, staring at him with dumb, hurt expression. We'd all had jail time, sure. Not as severe as Luca's, of course. Zayn's was for indecent exposure. But we did have records, we did have tattoos, and we sure as hell all had piercings.

"We can try," Luca said firmly. His three words neutralized Reggie's rather harsh ones, simple as that.

"There are places that smile upon our types," Harvey agreed. "We just have to show them our winning personalities."

He tried to grin widely, but it turned into a yawn.

"Can we go back to sleep?" Reggie asked the question on all our minds.

"Yeah," Luca sighed. "But we need to get looking. Bumper's message said he doesn't know how long it will take for the cops to cool it with the drug hunt."

As I crawled back into my pallet, I stared across at Zayn, fluffing his pillow. I'd seen him through a lot of hell, and he'd been there for me through rough things. It was me who bailed him out of jail, walking through town with him while he sported hot pink, cut off boxers.

He'd smashed my cake over my head and told me to grow some balls when it turned out my step-father had gotten the Jurassic Park themed cake instead of the Power Rangers one. Best friends, right? I knew what he looked like when he was miserable. He looked perfectly okay, and that was what alarmed me.

"Zayn?" I whispered, in case Harvey was still awake on the couch.

"What? I'm trying to sleep."

"It wasn't our fault. It wasn't yours."

He had his back turned to me, but I had a clear view of the tremor that coursed through him. The neighborhood outside was asleep as well, but the distant sounds of birds punctuated the thick silence.

"That's the first time someone died from what I sold."

Then, he pulled his cover tighter to him, around his ears like he didn't want to hear my condolences. Honestly, I was relieved, because I didn't know what to say in this situation. I'd never lost anyone. Reggie had, and Luca had. But not me, not yet. They weren't exactly ours to lose. In the state most of them were in, they belonged to nothing but the high and the addiction. But we had a claim to them, in a sick sort of way. We were the last bridge to them and sanity. Even though we always pushed them over the edge, we were still there.

And in some terribly sick way, I feel like that counted.

The next day, I dug out my long sleeved shirt from the pile of clothes in the corner. Reggie presented me with my new beanie-made in record time. The best pair of jeans I owned had a few fraying holes, but they would have to do. We had all been up way past our usual bedtime, seeing if we'd have to adjust to a normal work schedule. For the most part, we were hoping for jobs that could work with us, were made for people similar to us. Reggie aimed for a bartending position at a strip club, and Luca was intimidating enough to be a guard at a club. Harvey, Zayn, and myself headed downtown, near the beach were a strip of stores surrounded a night themed skate park.

When I was a child, I thought that part of town was heaven. About six stores circled the skate park, a variety of music shops and punk themes places that could care less about tattoos. The rental skates had wheel that glowed ghostly green in the night. The beach, less than a mile away, was famous for hookups.

If we got all the jobs we currently aimed for, we wouldn't have to change much in our lives.

Harvey applied at Adam's Playlist, the music and record store with grimy windows and little light on the inside, so it was hard to read much on the albums. Zayn went to the skate rental, where he had sold to the manager before. That left me to wander the circle of stores, watching a few tweens attempt to skate. During the day, the elderly people and children were allowed to try out a few moves. But once night fell, you had to be over 16 to skate, due to the town's curfew.

I had just made a full circuit, smiling as I watched a little girl stumble over her pink skates, when Harvey ran out of Adam's. At least he was smiling.

"Think I got the job. The workers are very nice, told me I'd fit right in. I think you should apply there for sure. Where have you put in already?"

"Nowhere," I admitted. "I'm waiting for one to catch me eye. I'm thinking about the little skater clothing and board shop."

"Well don't take too long. Luca is ordering pizza tonight. I think he's trying to cheer us up."

"Pizza would do the trick."

"Any food would do for me. Except maybe Mexican food. I need to take a break from it. See ya!"

He hurried away, clearly elated, and I had to suppress feeling jealous. For Harvey, it didn't take much to be happy or satisfied with life. He didn't ask for much so when he got anything it was a welcomed and deeply appreciated surprise. Jerk.

I lit up a cigarette and took a hearty drag before letting it out in a sigh. I didn't want a new job. I liked my old job, shitty profit be dammed. I had what I needed, even though deep down I wasn't satisfied.

"Those are bad for you."

I gave a jolt before tipping my head to the side to acknowledge the person that just walked out of Andy's. Oh fuck. It was that damn hippie. Harry Styles. The insanely cute, stupid, stuck up hippie with the sexy voice.

"A lot of things are bad for you, love, but if you enjoy them…fuck it."

As Harry approached, I found myself having to tip my head up to get a good look at him. Damn, he was tall, a decent bit taller than myself.

"I guess that's reasonable."

He lifted one of his bony shoulders in a shrug, but I couldn't stop staring at his eyes, a rich green color, or how his lips looked chapped but inviting all the same.

"You work at Andy's?" I finally asked, when it became obvious he was okay with silence. "My friend just applied there."

"Andy's a friend of my uncle. And yeah, I like Harvey. He's funny. He mentioned that him and a bunch of his friends are job hunting."

"We are. I'm going to apply at Bart's Clothing in a moment."

"He's nice. But don't you have another job?"

He raised his eyebrows, but the warmth in his eyes cooled, as if it were a touchy subject.

"Not anymore."

"You're done selling?" He seemed genuinely taken back, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips puckering a little. I needed to stop staring at his lips. And I had no obligations to tell the truth to him. If he wanted to think I was done selling…well, whatever.

"I guess I am."

"Forever?"

Oh for fuck's sake, why did he care? Why did he even look hopeful, like me giving up that lifestyle might benefit him or make him happy?

"Forever," I repeated, seriously. I'd been a great liar since childhood. People told me all the time I should be an actor.

"That's great," he said seriously, shoving his hands in his pockets. I took another drag as I looked him up and down. He wore black gym shorts and a baggy white shirt with what might have been a ketchup stain near the bottom. On his feet were leather sandals, typical beach shoes. I wouldn't be caught dead in them. A daisy was tucked behind his ear, almost buried beneath his curls.

"Hey, I don't even know your name," he said suddenly. And just like that, he refused to look at me. Instead, he focused on his feet, kicking at the stray grains of sand on the sidewalk. Almost like he was shy. But that would be ridiculous.

"Louis Tomlinson," I said. Knowing his name but him not knowing mine bothered me.

"I'm Harry Styles. Sorry we had to meet at a park in the middle of the night. Especially when I was napping." At my blank stare, he did another one-shoulder shrug and went on. "I have insomnia. But when I get tired, I have to nap right away."

"I'm used to sleeping during the day," I admitted. "I'm going to ask for the night shifts if I get on somewhere. To be honest, I forgot how annoying the sunlight was."

"Buy you an umbrella." Harry's lips twitched in an almost smile. "And some shades. Everyone will think you're a vampire."

"Please… no. Ugh. I'd be something way cooler."

Harry gave me a lopsided smile, but he never got the chance to ask me what I would be. Our conversation ended when a grizzled old man wearing a Bob Marley beanie-dreads attached and all-stuck his head out.

"Harry, I have to cut your break short. Tourists are coming through, I can feel it in my bones."

"No he can't," Harry said under his breath to me. "His best friend probably called him and warned him."

Out loud, he said, "I'm coming, Andy. Do you want me to sort the CDs?"

"And sweep," the old man, Andy, said. "And wipe off the counters. Hurry along now. That ginger boy doesn't start until tomorrow, but at least it's your last day handling it on your own, right?"

"Right. Can't wait!" Harry winked at me before turning and heading back inside. Once he opened the door, he turned and smiled at me again.

"Hope to see you around, Louis. I'm glad you're choosing a new career."

"And why is that?" I asked cheekily. Okay, so I was flirting. So what? It's not like it would lead to anything. It's not like it could even be allowed to lead to anything.

"Because I think you're probably a very good person and you don't belong to that life." He looked to his feet, as if debating something. "One of my friends lost his brother to an overdose last night. Niall Horan. He's been a mess and we don't know how to make it better."

I could hardly watch the way his eyes clouded over with distant pain. It felt as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water over me, freezing me to the sidewalk. Horan. Greg. That little Irish bastard from the park?

So Zayn and I killed his brother.

And just like that, the faint guilt and sadness consumed me. The life lost had a face now. Greg and Niall had been brothers. Greg had probably taught him how to play football, and how to color inside the lines. Or outside them. Whatever he preferred.

This Greg meant something to someone I had met. This Greg meant someone to the curly haired bastard I couldn't stop staring at.

Harry was staring at me, concerned, so I had to force myself to say something.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I managed.

"Thanks. He was a good guy. Just a little turned around, you know? A little messed up. But I'll be seeing you, I hope."

As the door shut behind him, I tried to calm the jumble of emotions in my stomach. The guilt. The panic. The sorrow. The embarrassing, and very faint thank you, interest I had in Harry. And the infuriating smugness I felt over the fact that Harry had been blushing as the door shut behind him.

After I pulled myself together and put out my cigarette, I applied at Bart's Clothing. The man, with gages bigger than I would ever joke about getting, told me they'd call me very soon and let me know if they were interested. Despite the stores being small and started by one single person, they received a hearty amount of business. If I got the job, I'd have to get used to being busy again.

Back at home, Reggie had crashed on the couch, which upset the balance of everything because the couch was not his designated sleeping area.

Luca was sorting through our bills on one of the stools we had stolen from a bar. That was a long story, but to make it short a fight broke out one night and Luca took his weapon of choice right out the door with him when they told him to leave. Since then, we'd taken a fancy to testing how many bar stools we could steal. We had no other read furniture besides the couch, but it was more of a joke than a necessity.

The other stools were mismatched, but we didn't mind at all. The table was actual a prime example of our cardboard furniture, made from a couple of refrigerator boxes stacked on top of each other with support from various other boxes. Harvey was harping on excitedly, and every time he stopped to draw in another breath, Luca smiled up at him, silently encouraging him to go on with whatever nonsense he was spouting.

Zayn, as usual, was in the bathroom.

"Did you get a job?" Luca asked without looking up but clearly speaking to me. Each of us had the privilege to be spoken to in a certain tone of his. The one used for me was that of a very tired father.

"Don't know yet. They're going to call. What about you guys?"

"All good. Zayn got his job at the skate rental. I got my security position, and Reggie is, unfortunately, a bartender."

"He's going to get fired. Especially when all the grease in his hair dips into the drinks he's mixing."

"Very funny. Tell Zayn that the pizza should be here soon."

If Zayn is just fixing his hair or sitting on the sink texting, he'll leave the bathroom door cracked a little. That's why I didn't hesitate to push my way in and take a seat on the edge of the bathtub. Zayn sat cross-legged on the sink, tapping his fingernails against the screen of his phone.

"Pizza soon?" he asked.

"Yep."

I watched as he stared vacantly at his screen and chewed at his thumbnail. I'd seen him do that more times than I could count, particularly during our calculus tests in high school. It was just one of the little things he did when he was upset, or confused, or mostly just stressed.

"What's wrong with you?"

The time it took him to answer confirmed my suspicions.

"I just…I've been thinking."

"Oh, mate. Don't do that. If you keep it up, you might injure yourself."

He cracked a reluctant smile.

"Okay, okay. We can be teenage girls again. What's troubling you?"

I put my chin in my hand and fluttered my eyelashes, doing my best to provoke another smile.

Almost subconsciously, he checked his phone and returned to chewing at his thumb before he answered.

"Liam and Niall…the Irish bloke from last night and the one with the shaved head…it was pretty clear that they were dating, right?"

"They might have just been fuck buddies."

"Right."

"Why do you care?" I asked sensibly. Zayn hated them all, and he'd made that clear. And they hated him, too. Well, as much as their pacifist and mushy lifestyle allowed them to dislike someone.

When he didn't answer, I decided it was a good time to mention what I learned from Harry.

"Niall, that blond one, ya know?"

"Yeah?"

"Greg Horan was his brother."

Zayn bowed his head and placed his hands over his eyes, and if anyone else walked in they might think he was crying.

"Greg…."

"The man from last night," I reminded him.

"I know which man it is!" he snapped. Right away, he regretted being so harsh. "It just feels a lot more real now that we know his name."

Sighing, he dragged his hands down his face and uncovered a deep scowl.

"How did you find out his name?"

"Remember the hippie in the van, with the flowers in his hair?"

"Curly?" Zayn squinted, like he was picturing them all standing in a circle.

"Yeah, Curly. He works at the place Harvey got on at. Came outside and talked to me."

"Did he now?" Zayn smirked and typed out a message on his phone. Who he was texting, we only had the faintest of clues. We were the most permanent people in his life, and the strippers and prostitutes hardly wanted any attachment to a customer. Zayn didn't want that either. At most, we figured he was dirty talking to his old friends, making arrangements to hook up.

We never stopped asking though.

"Who are you texting?"

Not that I expected an answer.

"Don't change the subject, Lou. I find it very interesting that Curly came outside to chat you up. Almost seems like he's interested."

"Zayn. I don't know him. We've spoken for a combined total of less than ten minutes."

"Romeo and Juliet hardly talked at all and they killed themselves for each other."

"That's kind of a lot different," I pointed out. Sarcastically, if you couldn't tell. "They were stupid, and that's being kind."

"Okay, fine. You aren't experiencing doomed love. But you feel attraction, right? Because you couldn't stop staring last night and I know you wanted look back at him when we were leaving."

"So? If someone's cute, they're cute. That doesn't mean shit."

"Okay. Let's play a game."

He swiveled on the sink so that he fully faced me. What really got me was that Zayn put his phone down. He never set it down when he was in hook up moods.

"Louis, I've known you for too long for you to lie to me like this. I'm a busy man with many hook ups to have and many parties to attend before I go to this shit fest called work." His expression soured further. "Simply put, I don't have enough time to sit here and listen to you lie. You like this stupid boy, for what reasons I can't fathom. So do something about it. Jesus, we aren't five years old anymore."

The whole time he talked, my face grew warmer and warmer until I was sure I was flushed entirely red. His speech had a scolding tone about it, which shamed me more. But it wasn't that simple. Oh sure, I could like Harry. I guess I did. Oh hell, I know I did. But who could I trust something so new, so fast? Answer: I can't.

"It's just not a good idea Zayn, and you know it."

"What did you tell me a couple of years ago?" Zayn's level stare froze me. Oh God, who knew what I said?

"Was I drunk?" I asked tentatively.

"No, surprisingly not. You told me you'd know if someone was worth putting up with the second you saw them. So, is this overgrown spaz worth it?"

I let my mind falter, gave into myself and let the images come forth; Harry and I, actually dating like normal people do, sitting close on the couch while we ate a pint of ice cream and watched trash telly. At his flat of course; I'd do my best to let him never see mine. We could exchange gifts on Christmas.

"You're gone."

I snapped out of it, realized the deadly mistake I'd made by letting a wide smile cross my face.

"I am not! Like I said, he's cute and I like talking to him. But so what? It's not like we can even afford to have relationships."

My excuses were feeble, even to my own ears. I didn't want to make any excuses now that I let myself hope.

"You're thinking that far ahead already?" He let out a low whistle, implying that he was impressed.

"I'm not thinking anything," I replied stubbornly and what I thought was honesty. "I probably won't seem him too much. And I don't care. If I wanted something from a guy I'd go downtown and find one outside working. You know that."

"I know that." Zayn became distant again, picking at the loose skin around his thumbnail. Whatever had changed, it had changed fast. He was upset again, over the something he wasn't quite ready to share.

"But like I said, we've hardly talked at all. And I don't care. What I do care about is that someone is going to have to wake Reggie up from that nap."

"It won't be so bad when he finds out there is pizza involved."

Zayn slid off the sink and stretched, eyeing the length of his arm as he did so.

"I'm getting more tattoos soon. I'm getting that itch, you know? What are you getting next?"

I stared down at my sleeve, tracing the designs with my fingers. The bird on my forearm, the storm of feathers leading to my elbow, lyrics, and various symbols and patterns, all forming a solid sleeve of ink. My mother would have been aghast, but that made my smile instead of feel ashamed. When I pictured her being a mother to me, especially as I grew older, I was happy. She would have been the best.

"I'm thinking something ludicrous."

"Angel wings on your back?"

I laughed.

"I forgot I use to want those. Devil wings might be a bit more accurate now, don't you think?"

"You know they say the devil was once an angel."

Zayn ruffled my hair and nudged the bathroom door open with his foot.

"Come on. Let's volunteer Harvey to wake Reggie up, and then I need you to help me with a little something. Oh don't look at me like that, it's going to take less than an hour. I just need to tell one of my customers I'm cutting him off for a while. I was supposed to sell to him tonight."

"I hope I get that damn job," I mutter. "Then you won't be able to drag me out on your stupid missions."

"I'm thinking you'll be getting a phone call pretty soon. Those places are always firing and hiring people."

Turns out, Zayn was right. I got the call halfway through my third slice of pizza, and chewed my way to my fourth while Bart himself ranted about how his last worker had been a moron and I'd better not let him down. I promised to do my best, and then told him I'd see him tomorrow night. How long Bumper expected us to lay low, I had no idea. But I hoped it wasn't too long.

We all favored selling over normal jobs for a reason, after all.

After dinner, Zayn gave me this glare across the table and jerked his head towards the door pointedly.

Luca didn't miss a thing.

"If either of you dumbfucks are going to sneak out and try to sell something, at least do it subtly," he said, sipping his coffee.

"Yeah, dumbfucks," Reggie chimed in.

"I don't believe that's a word. Luca, pass me the comic section, eh?" Harvey leaned across the table and snatched at the newspaper in Luca's hand, tearing the corners a little.

"We aren't going to sell!" Zayn protested hotly. "In fact, I just need to tell my most loyal customer that I won't be able to provide for him for a couple of weeks, but not to give up on me. If I lose him, I don't know what I'll do."

"Why didn't you sell to him a couple of nights ago and save us a shit ton of heartache?" Reggie muttered.

Harvey giggled at the comic section, oblivious as ever.

"Because he still had enough left over from last time." Zayn thrust his chin in the air with haughty defiance. "You don't think I thought to ask him?"

"I don't think you think anything through anymore," Reggie snapped. "But pick me up some Doritos on the way home, okay?"

And just like that, the squabble was over. Zayn agreed and stood to shrug on his coat while I slipped my shoes back on.

"Thanks for going with me, mate," he said once we were on our way. "I hate facing these ignorant blokes alone. Teenagers these days speak their own language, I swear."

We spoke little, each going away to our private thoughts. Zayn and I were never those people that liked to walk and talk. If we were going to have the time to enjoy the view or be alone in our heads, we were going to fucking take that opportunity.

So I let him lead the way, matching his steady pace until we were walking up a track to a football field. Just on the other side, the horrid school rose up like an ugly brick hill. It had two stories, jam packed with hell chambers and teachers that thought teaching degrees meant they could personally shit on your dreams and call it education.

Fuckers.

My high school career couldn't have ended faster. Maybe if I had joined a team or some sort I would have liked it more, but I'd always been so restless, hopping from job to job, getting a new tattoo just because I had that itch. It wasn't until I started selling that I found a bit of respite from it.

As we crossed the gates and began the climb into the bleachers, the pungent smell of freshly mown grass hit me, as well as the smell of sweat. Not such a lovely combination, but the laughter arising from the field was nearly infectious.

"What are they doing practicing nearly a month before school starts back?" I asked, flopping down on the sun-warmed metal beside Zayn.

We were sat about halfway up, where I could still take in the more pronounced details of the players. Zayn had always been a people watcher, perhaps because of his interest in art. He chose our spot tactfully.

"Practice is intense here, don't you remember? We couldn't sit through one class without the jocks harping about how many hours they spent on this field."

"Zayn, I honestly don't remember much of high school. I remember sleeping a lot, and that's about it."

Which was half true. I remember getting yelled at often as well, and being told I wouldn't amount to anything. Just the highlights of the best years of my life.

"I remember trying to wake you up before the teacher raised hell, too. Good times."

His tone didn't suggest as much.

As Zayn and I reclined onto the bleachers just behind us, waiting for them to finish drills, a certain something caught my eye.

"Oh bloody hell."

"What?" Zayn straightened up beside me, eyes drifting away from his phone. "What's wrong?"

"He's here."

The 'he' was none other than Harry Styles, sitting hunched onto a bench on the sidelines. As the players moved down the field, his head followed them unfailingly. The angle of his body suggested interest, the tapping of his foot maybe a little impatience. Did he play on the team? Somehow I had a hard time picturing it.

Maybe he had a certain interest in one of the players.

"Oh and so is he," Zayn muttered crossly. "Great."

I spotted Zayn's subject of disgruntlement; Niall Horan, in uniform and sprinting to keep up with his teammates. Though he wasn't the best, he moved fast and clearly knew his game. Within minutes, he scored. Afterwards, he performed an Irish jig that had his teammates laughing and clapping him on the back.

Harry gave him a thumbs up from the bleachers.

Beside me, Zayn took a deep breath in, but never made a show of releasing it.

"He doesn't seem so bad," I offered. "Bit odd, yeah, but not all bad."

The look he gave me implied that I was too young, too stupid to grasp what must have been a simple concept, such as Niall Horan being absolutely terrible.

"I've never noticed him here before, or I wouldn't have even bothered. Oh, and shame about Harry being here."

My eyes flickered back to Harry, now scribbling in a journal, tongue protruding from the side of his mouth. I couldn't help but to watch him the short remaining part of the practice, how he'd shift around a little, watch Niall's scores and cheer even though no one else watching made a single noise of encouragement. Not even the girls gathered on the end of our row, clearly an assortment of girlfriends and overzealous mothers, deigned to crack a smile.

What an idiot, he was.

When the practice ended and one of the players bounded over to talk to Zayn, I watched Harry carefully fold a page in his journal and set it down. Niall kicked the ball his way, and in a heartbeat Harry was on the field, barefoot and tripping over the ball, but unquestionably trying his hardest. Niall laughed, shouting encouragement, but after a few failed kicks Harry collapsed on the ground, laughing.

Niall joined him, kicking his feat in the air.

"They're both a bit touched."

I gave a little start at the voice.

Zayn's customer, whose jacket announced him as Captain of the Team, shook his head.

"Both of them. Niall is alright but that Harry lad comes to all our practices and acts like he's practicing for the cheer squad. None of us can stand him."

The harsh words had me bristling. Inconsiderate jerk. Harry probably hadn't done a damn thing wrong to him. Okay, he was an overgrown freak, but what right did this airhead have to talk about him like that? Zayn sensed my mood and cleared his throat.

"Can't you just ask him not to attend the practices if it's that bad?"

"He's one of the volunteers. He knows first aid."

Captain shook his head, as if Harry's charity was the worst thing that could be offered to them.

"We can stand Niall because he doesn't make it so obvious, but Harry's a flaming mess. Honestly, I'd rather bleed out than have that faggot near me."

I jumped up, fists clenched, scared at the feeling overcoming me. I hate how protective I feel, hate how angry I am due to a stranger's word, but I can't help it. I hate bullies like him, especially when their object is someone that might be my friend at some point.

Zayn sprang up with me, his hands going to my shoulders and forcing my body behind his a little. Trying to quell my anger by keeping the little snot's face out of my sight.

"We'd best be going, it's just getting so late. I'll see you soon?"

"Of course." Captain cocked his head and stared at me oddly. "Count on it."

Once we were just out of earshot, Zayn gave my arm a last harsh squeeze before letting go. Crossly, I pulled away from him. If only he would just let me say what I wanted to. We didn't need customers like that asshat.

"You still sure you don't like him?" he asked, wide eyed and solemn.

"You little…."

I grabbed him in a headlock, a little tension draining out of me as he yelped like a child. We'd play fought countless times, and I found a little respite in the routine. Thrashing around, he managed to get free and land a playful punch on my shoulder.

"I'm teasing, Lou! But I bet you next month's rent that he's watching us right now."

"Is not," I protested. "What would he be looking for?"

Of course, we had to check, just to be sure.

So he was watching, legs sprawled out, his palms in the grass in front of him as he leaned towards us. My heart did a backflip as I took in the sight of him-grass stained knees, dirt smeared face, flowers tucked into his hair. He might have been a child waiting for story time, but instead, when our eyes locked, my name escaped his lips.

"Louis?"

Niall's head turned our way, eyebrows raised in keen interest, but I couldn't stick around and chat with him, not without collecting all my thoughts first.

Instead, I did what I did best; I grabbed Zayn and we ran.

The next night as I arrived at the skate park, I found myself overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. My mother had been the last person to take me, right before she passed away, but it felt like there had been less people back then. Marginally so.

People flashed by me, laughing into the wind. A few newbies were stumbling around, not daring to try the actual ramps and half-pipes. A group of girls zipped by me, spinning to skate backwards and wink at me as they went, and I thought that I might just like this set up after all. Bart met me at the door and delivered a ten minute crash course on the whole running of the store.

"Band shirts are along the left wall, arranged alphabetically, and yes we do have body jewelry but they have to ask to see it. It's here under the counter. We don't sell socks. This is a beach side store. Why the hell would you want socks?" Bart curled his lips like socks were disgusting inventions that should never have been. He was a stocky man with a red beard that stuck out in a long point. Whether his hair matched or not, I didn't know; he was bald to the point where his head shined. Tattooed by his ear was a star.

"Clean the windows if you're bored. Dressing rooms are that way…."

He went on and on this way, not giving a definite stream of instructions but instead jumping from one subject and area to another.

"I'll let you have your cell phone out, too. So long as we're slow."

I didn't bother telling him I hadn't had a cell phone for years. If I needed something, I could call one of the lads from a phone booth.

From the counter, I could see the middle of the park with spotlights streaming down. It was as if a giant scooper had scraped away a giant circle of concrete, leaving slanted walls and scraped knees. Watching all the people kept me busy. The way that boys would fall and laugh and tease each other but when girls fell they were embarrassed.

Physical pain for girls was embarrassing, but emotional pain was expected. Vice versa for boys. I thought this odd, that no one could never just hurt and it just be okay. There were limitations, only so much pain you could be in before people turned away and refused to feel bad for you. All in all, it was a shitty concept.

Bart noticed me watching them, but he figured it for the wrong reasons.

"Got a girl you wish you were skating with?"

"Nah," I replied evenly. "I broke my last skateboard last year. Haven't been able to afford one since."

"I can't promise you'll be wealthy here, but Jesus, kid, you can definitely afford a skateboard. What were you doing before?"

I stared blankly at him. Here was the same obstacle that had been prominent in my life since I started selling drugs. How do you tell people you were on a path so frowned upon, so despised? Like I said, we didn't exactly have spare cash, but we were in the place we wanted to be. No, had to be. We didn't have proper education, and odd jobs and low income wouldn't keep us appeased for long. Then what did we have?

"I worked little odd jobs for people," I answered. "Pet sitting, mowing lawns. That sort of business. But I don't come off too trustworthy so I didn't get a lot of opportunities."

"Shame." Bart shook his head. "People judge too fast these days. If it weren't for society…"

He trailed away, eyes lifting to the front door as a small group squeezed into the shop, laughing loudly and drowning out the sound of Slipknot playing overhead.

"Not again," Bart groaned. He raised his voice to the small crowd. "How many times do I have to tell ya…if the kid can't skate keep him off the board! This isn't a fucking hospital."

I was taken aback by his language until I turned to get a good look at the group and fuck I wouldn't ever escape him would I? Harry stood between Niall and Liam, clutching at his scraped elbows and grinning foolishly. Blood stained his fingertips, outlining his nails. Liam appeared exasperated, but Niall and another young lad were laughing still.

"I'm sorry, Bart," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. "Andy let me on break and these girls asked me to try out their board and make sure it worked all right…"

"You should have let me check it." Liam sounded like he wanted to smack both Niall and Harry. The other boy turned his head to stare at the band shirts covering the wall.

"They were so nice though." Harry stuck his bottom lip out further before shrugging. "But if Bart wants to let me bleed to death…"

"For pity's sake. Louis, go to the back and get that first aid kit."

As Bart said my name, all four boys turned to the counter, Liam with astute wariness and Harry with a glow of pleasant surprise that made my stomach churn. What was his problem? Grateful to escape him, I scurried into the back closet Andy called an office.

When I brought the first aid kit back, Harry was sitting on the stool behind the counter, legs swinging as his hands gripped the edges.

His friends were apparently browsing, but I could hear them whispering urgently, as if something monumental occurred in the short time I was gone.

"Where's Bart?" I asked, not wanting to be entirely in the small space with just Harry.

"Went to tell Andy that I would be back soon. I'm a mess, aren't I? I'm sorry I bothered you guys."

This time, he truly did seem sorry, his green eyes peering up at me like a dog waiting to be scolded. Even sitting, he was almost as tall as me.

"You aren't bothering us. Well, not me. This job is boring, to be honest. I've spent all my time watching people skate, wishing I could join them."

"Bart will let you." Harry watched my hands as I pulled a few supplies from the red kit. "Just ask. The shops are very groovy here. They let you do whatever."

"Did you just say groovy?" I snorted involuntarily. "God, you're such a hippie."

"And you're a punk," Harry countered jovially.

I didn't bother replying, instead rubbing at his scraped elbows with a washcloth and rubbing alcohol. He winced, but when I glanced up he beamed at me and waited, so I went on.

If Reggie saw me playing doctor with one of the hated hippies, he would shit himself laughing at me.

"You're cute," Harry said suddenly.

I jumped.

"What the bloody hell?"

"Just the way your face scrunches up. You're concentrating really hard on doing a good job, and it's cute. You remind me of a teddy bear."

"A bear?" I rolled my eyes, but my neck felt hot and sticky with sweat I'd been previously unaware of. Who did he think he was, dropping a bomb like that? Harry didn't need to be calling me anything. He should thank me for patching his clumsy ass up. Then he should stay at Andy's store, and leave me alone until I got my real job back and didn't have to worry about seeing him every day.

"A teddy bear," Harry repeated, utterly sure of himself. "You just think you're a tough bear, but I bet you're really a big softie."

"My mom called me boobear." It slipped out before I could even stop it. Like a butterfly slipping between my fingers, I was aware of the thought-the painful memories-and then it went through my fingers. Set free into the air.

"Boo bear," Harry repeated, like he was testing it out. "That's embarrassing."

"Shut it, giraffe." I stuck the last band aid on him and tried to step away, but his hands shot out and grabbed at my waist. His wiry fingers dug lightly into my hip bones.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. Jesus, how many times did the kid apologize in one day? "I just don't know what to say. I'm not any good at making friends."

"You seem pretty sociable to me," I replied, trying to think of a polite way to get out of the net of his fingers.

"I am. I can talk to anyone, get along with anyone. And I'll listen to any stranger's problems. But I don't have very many people willing to hear me out."

"Well I'm not going to." I let out a barking laugh, and I know I was rude, but the more Harry tried to work into my life the more walls I had to put up. And that was a hell of a lot of effort on my part.

"You will." Harry dug his fingers in a little more, so that the soft gesture took an edge of pain and-dammit it all-pleasure. I wouldn't dare let my thoughts wonder any further than his chin. His eyes were a danger zone, filled with his complete self-assurance as his called me on my bull shit. His lips were a no. I imagined touching them. "You're going to listen to me because I want to be your friends and you can't shake me off. I'm like a sloth."

'Friends?' I thought. 'Get real, Curly. You can't be friends with someone you get horny about when they touch you.'

"Giraffe," I corrected with a light sigh. Harry knew he'd won.

"Ask Bart to let you come out and skate."

"It's my first day of work," I protested, half-heartedly but at least I was trying. Zayn couldn't begrudge me that much. "I don't need to leave now."

"If you come with me, I'll buy you your own skateboard to work with."

The disappointment I felt as his hands slid away from me was washed away by an intense mix of shock, excitement, and reluctance to let him take pity on me. Friendships weren't exactly supposed to work that way, right? But Harry Styles had a dusting of freckles on his nose and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and my resolve weakened when I looked at him.

And I thought of what Zayn had looked at me and said, that I was already gone. Things didn't happen this fast, not ever. Not even in the movies.

"Fine, Giraffe. I'll watch you bust your ass."

Harry's lips tugged up into a crooked smile, slanting like a slung crescent moon. His teeth were pretty and white, but it was then that I noticed the front most left one had a little chip on it.

"It's from a wannabe skating incident," Harry explained easily, as if he could read my mind. "I know; it's awful."

"It's…cute." The word felt foreign rolling off my tongue, catching in the spaces between my teeth. The girls-and those few boys- I had brought home didn't settle for those endearing terms. Our exchanges were sparse as we rolled in the dirty sheets, and at most the words that slipped out were desperate and thick with filth. Things weren't cute in my world.

But Harry, with his chipped tooth and how his shoulders hunched up in excitement was, unmistakably, cute. As I followed him out the door, leaving Bart with a porn magazine and a lazy scowl, I decided that, after tonight, I would say goodbye to him. One night of light-hearted and no strings attached fun before I told him to let me be before I returned to my old, Harry free life.

That was before I finally extended my hand and grasped at his hips, showing him how to push off the ground with his foot. The places where my fingers touched him were tingling like static, and I scarcely heard his cry of delight as he took off at a light glide.

"What now?"

"Push!" I called, kneading my fingertips into my palm absently. As he took off, I admired his gangly form. From basic knowledge, I could deduce he was no older than 18, and definitely still in high school. Harvey mentioned once that most of the hippies were. I wasn't much older- just 21, and yet he was so much taller than me, more angular in the jut of his bones. Then you met his eyes you knew-definitely still a kid.

That might be what frustrated me most. He was probably still innocent, still uncontaminated. What would my dirty world do to him?

"This is fun! Lou, catch up!"

Taking off at a light jog, I couldn't help but to admire the curve of his thighs as they slid down to slim legs, and then, for the first time, I noticed his absence of shoes. Normally, that would be very noticeable, but his face distracted me so much. I didn't even know how great his butt looked until right then.

He stopped, chin raised like he was indicating towards something in the sky.

"Did you see that? I picked up so fast!"

"I'm an excellent teacher," I bragged, jamming my hands in my back pockets, to keep them the hell away from Harry's body. "But I think you already had a basic understanding. You just needed tips."

Harry placed one barefoot on the ground and pushed the skateboard slowly back and forth with the other. I tried to focus on the scratch of its wheels against the concrete instead of the way Harry raised his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face.

"It's getting hot out," he said conversationally.

Shit, we were talking about the weather. Is this how friendships were formed? Hell, I didn't even remember.

"Very hot. Kind of makes you wish you were back in the air conditioned store, huh?"

"Nah," Harry replied with zero hesitation. "I like it better out here with you."

When he saw my face, he added quickly, "I mean, we're basically getting paid to knock around right now. Groovy huh?"

"Again with the groovy?" I groaned.

"What's wrong with saying groovy?"

He sat down at one end of the skateboard, leaving plenty of room for me to join him. Even as I thought that I absolutely shouldn't, I settled down, my knees drawing up to my chest.

"It's so…hippie. You know you guys are infuriating, right? With all your peace shit and the flowers in your hair."

Almost guiltily, he raised a finger to prod the flower of the day-a dandelion- tucked behind his ear. To be frank, I hadn't even noticed it before, as it had been obscured by his wild curls; much more concealed than yesterday's had been. Seeing him prod it in a self-conscious manner made me regret my harsh words.

"Okay, it's not that bad," I amended. "Just…why?"

"Why did you sell people things that can easily kill them?" he replied gently. He wasn't accusing me of anything, just pointing something out.

"A hell of a lot of things kill people that they enjoy. But they still do it. People still sell them. Me being the bad guy is getting old."

Harry's shoulders tensed, but his voice was steady.

"Okay, okay. Sorry. But it's over now, right? So let's forget it. To answer your question, I don't remember where I even got the hippie stereotype. It's just who I always was. I hated shoes, and violence, and arguing with people. I loved the sun, yoga, and picking flowers. Somehow, I ended up with a group of kids who felt the same and next thing I know who we are is an insult."

"Hippies did drugs," I argued, only half-joking.

"That's not right. That's stereotyping. And even then, hippies wanted freedom and choice. They just wanted to live their lives in peace, right, man?"

"Right."

Harry studied me, not satisfied with my surly answer.

"I know what you need. Come to yoga with me in the morning."

"Yoga?" I gripped the bottom of the skateboard and leaned away from him, as if his hippie vibe would sink into me. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not. Please? And if you show, you can tell the others about how you and your friends have stopped selling drugs. They might really like you then."

He leaned into me, bumping me with his shoulder and trying to provoke a response. Other than my look of near disgust, of course. Yoga? Seriously? No thanks. I didn't want to praise the sun or whatever. I wanted to sleep in then come to work and make my money. But Harry started pouting.

"Oh for fuck's sake, fine. Can I bring Zayn?"

At the name, Harry's brow furrowed as he tried to place him.

"The lad with the Elvis hair?"

"That's the one."

I didn't bother mentioning that it would take a great deal of bribery on my part to get Zayn to show up to a hippie gathering, but I wasn't going alone, that's for sure.

"Of course you can bring him. Liam is a big Elvis fan himself. He really appreciates the hair."

At that moment, a cute girl with pink rollerblades glided up, spinning expertly to a stop. One look at her, and you could tell she had been skating for many years. It was apparent in the easy way she balanced, the lack of any padding on her knees or elbows. When she smiled at Harry, I noticed a small gap between her two front teeth.

"Hey, Harry. Get the hang of it yet?"

She completely ignored me, instead twirling her blond ponytail with her delicate fingers as she batted her eyelashes at Harry. Right away, I knew I wouldn't like her.

"Almost. Lou's been helping me. Louis, this is Clara. She competes in competitions. And she lets me copy her notes when I fall asleep in class."

Of course she did. Clara finally turned to me, peering down her button nose to analyze me with suddenly cold eyes. Definitely a bitch. But hey, I thought Zayn was an ass when I first met him, so it wouldn't hurt to give her a chance.

"It's nice to meet you," I told her, standing up. Harry scrambled to join me, nearly falling over the skateboard.

"You klutz," Clara giggled, ignoring me again. "I swear. You trip over air."

"I can't help it," Harry replied good-naturedly. "There's just too much of me."

The girl, Clara, flushed, peered once more at me, and then set her shoulders.

"My family is having their weekly dinner, but my perfect sister is coming home with her doctor-to-be fiancé. I could really use some support. Would you…."

She trailed off, waiting for Harry to agree, but he titled, his head, confused.

"Would I what?"

If I wasn't so annoyed with the girl trying to ask him for a dinner date, I would have thought about how cute Harry's naivety was.

"Come to dinner for me?" Clara looked down at her skates, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Oh." Harry blinked, and then looked at me for some reason. "I don't see why not."

That had not been the answer I was expecting, but thinking back, I shouldn't be surprised. Harry was, undoubtedly, sweet and friendly. He wouldn't turn down anyone. I could conclude that much even after the short time I knew him. He would probably tell Clara's mom he loved everything at dinner and if Clara reached her hand under the table to hold his, he would be too polite to pull away.

I looked down at his large hands, tracing the veins with my eyes so I didn't have to watch Clara squeal with delight. I didn't want her to touch him.

"Thank you so much! I can't wait to tell Mom. She thinks you're the best looking guy around. She's right, of course." Again, she blushed. "I'll text you later and we can talk some more about it."

When she glided off to meet up with a group of equally giggly and eager friends, Harry picked up the skateboard and tucked it under his arm like he hadn't just made a date with a girl that several guys were gawking at.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"I don't know," I answered, feeling suddenly cold. "I might be kind of busy."

Harry frowned and peered down at me with an alarming intensity.

"But I want you there."

"Yeah well…" I kicked at the ground, avoiding his eyes again. They would be the death of me. "I have to ask. And I wouldn't go unless Zayn went with me. So I have to see what he's doing."

I forced myself to look up at him, and was thrown off guard by how forlorn he looked over the fact that I might not be able to join him for some morning stretches. It wasn't fair I had some unreasonable crush on a damn hippie. It wasn't fair he was making me feel guilty over being jealous.

"I hope I see you. Really."

Then, before I could even protest, he reached out and took my hand, his thumb gliding over the tattoos on the top of my hand. The gesture felt too intimate for the rest of the world, his skin tracing ink, touching parts of me that no girl had ever bothered with. Something changed then, and we both knew it. We both knew I would show up for that damn yoga class, no matter what I said. And Clara didn't matter.

"Bye," Harry whispered, backing away. I clung to him for just a second, not ready to surrender the sensation of his hand in mine. Then, I was embarrassed over clinging to him like a child, and I let go. As he walked away, back to Andy's, he glanced over his shoulder at me four times, his smile growing wider each time, until I could see dimples pinching his cheeks and hear his laughter of the bell on the door.

I completely forgot about him promising to buy me a skateboard. I didn't care.

At home, the group sat around eating Chinese take-out and relating our newest stories of the casual working life. We didn't bother using the cardboard kitchen table, instead sitting on the floor and listening to the radio. I hadn't realized how much I missed them after only one day apart, which was kind of sad. After years of constantly being with your friends though, it was weird that the closest one was across the street from your own workplace.

Harvey mentioned Harry several times, waving his chopsticks around and talking about how all the girls would come in just to stare at him, until Andy had to throw them out for loitering.

"They compare him to a Greek god. If only they knew how clumsy of a god he is."

This talk didn't particularly interest anyone but Zayn, who watched me from the corner of his eyes with a wary expression, like I might go hunt down the girls. I needed to tell him about Clara in private, see what he thought about it. Just as I was trying to think of a time that I could get him alone, Harvey turned to me.

"But Harry adores you, Louis. He asked about you a few times, but he got kind of shy when I asked why he was so curious about you. Then I saw you two skating and I figured he got over it."

Harry? Shy? That was odd. But then again, I could see it if I tried hard enough. Perhaps I just needed to get to know him better. Not that I should.

"They were skating, were they?"

Zayn tipped his head and shot a sly grin my way, the type of grin that made skating feel dirty and perverse.

"Yep. When Harry got back in, he was really excited about yoga tomorrow. I kind of wanted to go."

"Don't ever associate with them more than you have to," Reggie snarled. "They are filth, all of them."

"I can't think of Harry that way," Harvey protested hotly. I was all for him defending Harry, but I was a bit taken aback by Reggie's passion.

"What have the lot done to us, anyway?"

Luca cleared his throat, like a warning, but Reggie set down his food and folded his hands together. For the longest time, he said nothing as he evaluated each of us in turn. The look he adopted was familiar. It was how he looked at us when he wanted to put in his opinion on things, but thought it best not to.

For Reggie, this was always an accomplishment. He tended to say exactly what he thought. But for once, he didn't hold back.

"They ruined my life. And before you jump on my ass about how they aren't all the same, just get that it's hard hearing the same words come out of their mouths that came out of _**his**_. Their minds are wired the same and I can see it when I look at them. I see him and his mannerisms and his ideas and I remember him so clearly I feel like I can reach out and punch him like I should have all those years ago."

"Who is he?" Harvey asked, setting his fork down. Reggie had each of us taut and brimming with curiosity.

Whatever he thought of in those moments must have been bad, but he heaved out a sigh and told us what he had never told us in all our years together.

"I had a girl. Really sweet, always wanted a dog, but I couldn't afford shit for us. Still, she was happy with me. God knows why. The more I realized she wanted, the more I needed to give her things. That's when I started selling, just me. My prices, all my cut of the profit. I bought her a dog, and then a ring. No matter how much I wanted to stop doing what I was doing, I couldn't stop because she was so happy. Then she met one of those hippies. Not from that lot, of course, but still one of them. He taught her all this shit about finding happiness in nature and outside of material things. And all that I had worked to get her was suddenly dirty. She threw away almost everything, and the only thing I did right apparently was get her the damn dog. Even threw away the ring."

He let us digest that while he stood, strolled to the miniature fridge, and pulled out a beer.

"She wanted to stay with me, of course. She still loved me. Until that flower bastard blamed me for the overdose of one of his friends. Told her that I sold him the stuff, and she found my stash, threw a fit. Told me I was worthless and disgusting. And I finally met this hippie that she had been telling me about. And guess what? I sold drugs to him all the time, him and his poor, naïve boyfriend. After she left me, he showed up at my house, really smug. Told me he'd lied about a lot of things to her, that he'd used her for a good shag and that I could have her back. All because I apparently sold him some bad stuff. And this kid was so young. I mean, so were we, but he had to have been just out of his teens. "

Harvey moved over beside him and patted his back in a soothing way. If anyone else had done it, it would have been awkward, but Harvey was Harvey, and he could get away with the mushiest of things.

"What happened then?"

Reggie took a swig of beer and shrugged in a casual manner that didn't match his sad and bitter expression.

"She came back to me a week or so later. Told me she was sorry, cried her eyes out and I didn't even feel anything. I just watched the mascara run down her face and thought, 'I thought she was all about the natural beauty now?'. Eventually, she realized I wasn't going to be answering, and she left."

Absently, his fingers moved to trace the scars over his wrist.

"Heard she got married. Last year. She wrote me a long ass letter about how she used to dream about us standing at the altar, and how maybe it was for the best I didn't let her hurt me anymore. I don't know why she did it. It didn't change anything."

Reggie peered through the curtain of his hair at each of us, suddenly self-conscious. Though he probably hadn't expected to tell us his story tonight, I was glad he did. I'm not one for these moments, but I could understand Reggie a little better, even more than I already did.

"I used to knit her scarves," he went on softly. "One for each day of the week. Her mother taught me how."

Luca rose resolutely and returned from the mini fridge with enough drinks for all of us. As he passed them around, we all pretended not to notice the tears in Reggie's eyes. We all had been there.

And we all knew that no one else but each other would ever understand.

Zayn's story was not as tragic as Reggie's, but it hurt me more because I had always been so close to him. He grew up in a large family, with parents strict on how he should be and what to do. We were at the same party when a girl dared him to take a drink, just one. She was older than us, by a good three years. Zayn was only 13 and hoping to maybe score, something that was on our hormone fueled thoughts 100% of the time, so he did more than just take one drink.

Later, as he was throwing up everywhere, he told me about how his parents were cheating on each other, how his sister was possibly pregnant, how he'd become so disgusted with his life that he would do anything to get out of it. A lot of truth tumbled out with the potato chips and hot dogs that had been served at the poolside event, and though I scrunched my nose up at the sight, I stood by him and patted his back.

I remember him cradling his face in his hands, words muffled by tears.

"Why do they want me to be perfect when they can't even do it themselves?"

Zayn fell in love that summer, with a girl that sang in a choir and played field hockey. He would drag me to her games, and continuously elbow me and mention how great her legs looked, or how wonderful her smile was.

This was before the party, before his parents told him he could never be with a girl like her, before the party where Zayn went to drown away his problems for a night and emerged with a reputation to last him until the end of his high school years.

That girl, and we don't usually say her name, cried for hours when she heard the rumors about him hooking up with a bunch of girls, and she stopped talking to him as the rumors grew worse. The one girl Zayn had half a mind to care about hated him, but instead of being sad, he became irrationally angry.

"If I've already got the reputation, I might as well live up to it," he muttered to me one night, after mayday. I was trying to give him the best comfort I could, a hard task in itself as comfort was the last thing on his mind. I didn't ever ask him if the rumors were true, though in my heart I knew Zayn may have been tempted, I also knew that Zayn would never cheat on someone.

Shortly after, he began living up to the rumors to the best of his ability, more out of spite than desire.

With different girls all the time and flings so wild that all the men envied him, he became quiet and withdrawn, Mr. Mysterious and the one that kicked his shoes up on his desk and smoked in the parking lot before his first class. Despite the girls saying how much of a pig he was, they wrote his name on their binders and checked him out as he strolled by.

In spite of the tough demeanor he took on-the leather jacket, the cigarettes, and the tattoos at sixteen-I knew he still cared that one girl more than any other. Not essentially because she was the one that got away, but more so because she was the girl who made him smile involuntarily, the girl he called and talked to until they both fell asleep on the phone. Call it what you want-first love, an irrational crush, puppy love-but Zayn did care for her. The fact that she was the first to turn on him due to reputation damaged a part of his mind, the essential wiring to trust and faith. She was only the first of so many, but she was the last to cut a connection.

Zayn was a terribly troubled person because of our school years, but he always watched that one girl and wished that things had been different between them.

It was with all this in mind that I nudged my way into the bathroom to speak with him. Even if Harry was-for lack of a better word- an undesirable, Zayn would help me if I told him the extent of my feelings over such a short time.

He was curled up in the bathtub staring at his phone. Also, he'd positioned his head under the leaky faucet. Each time it dripped into his tangle of black hair, he winced.

"If it bothers you, you can lay the other way, ya know."

He raised his head a little to peer over the edge of the tub at me, gingerly maneuvering so he didn't bang his head.

"I don't care, my recent advances have been rejected for entirely superfluous reasons. And you want something from me, right?" he asked, before I could questions said reasons. "I can see it in your face."

Half of me wanted to, but I didn't try to protest. Instead, I closed the door and took Zayn's usual seat on the sink, sliding my back against our scratched mirror.

"I taught Harry how to skateboard today."

When Zayn didn't do anything but stare, I went on.

"I mean, he already kind of knew what he was doing. His balance was just a bit off, ya know?"

Still, I received nothing but silence until Zayn let out a groan and righted himself completely. Without his hair to cushion the noise, we were subjected to the maddening drip of the faucet against the porcelain tub. It was one of those simple things in life that you simply forgot to appreciate that absence of.

"Harvey seems to think he's taken a right shine to you."

Absently, Zayn rubbed at the wet patch on his head.

"He might have, but maybe possibly because I told a tiny lie. He thinks we all stopped selling and that's why we all got new jobs. To start over or some happy shit like that."

"We did stop selling," Zayn said in a slow, patient voice, as if I were a child not comprehending a simple subject. Possibly omitting the last part of my explanation in favor of tending to the hair he'd just mentioned not caring about anymore.

"I mean permanently. He thinks we've all jumped up and turned over a new leaf. For good. And his expression was the worst. I couldn't help it. I lied and told him we had stopped. But he's so eager to talk to me, and for some damn reason I wish I could make sense of, I kind want to talk to him."

"Do you have a crush?" Zayn smirked.

"Why are you asking? You already know."

I looked anywhere but at his smug expression. I hated the term crush with a fiery passion, mainly because it sounded like such an elementary term when really Harry had me both A.) turned on and B.) eager to hold his hand at the same time. Crushes seemed to encompass wish B more so than wish A.

That hardly mattered though, as I had to drop the bomb before Zayn got bored and went out socializing or some shit.

"And I told him we would go to some yoga class tomorrow."

At that, the smile slipped off Zayn's face so fast it might have been comical if his eyes weren't so deadly.

"We? I hope you aren't including me in this shit, Tomlinson. Because if you think I'm waking up to praise the sun, you're sorely mistaken."

"Please Zayn. I really don't want to go by myself and it won't be so bad, right? All his friends will be going, and if me and Harry are going to have whatever we have, I want them all to like me."

Zayn stared.

"Since when do you care who likes you? Because ever since we were ten you've been flipping people off and saying exactly what you please, when you please. Why should it matter now?"

"Harry matters," I said, before I could stop myself. A part of me wanted to add 'already' because it was really that fast, faster than I ever could have dreamed. Though I had no clue where me and Harry could possibly go, I thought far too much about him to dig back to the part of my mind that didn't know him.

And most disgustingly of all, that day was less than a week ago. I really was a mess.

Zayn could have taken the chance to laugh at me and tease, but he shrugged with a resigned sigh and took his phone from his pocket. He clicked away at the keyboard, his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth.

"I have to cancel on Natasha, who does not have petty excuses for not hooking up with me. Now I gotta give her one. You'd better love me for this."

"I do. Just don't let on that I actually cared to go tomorrow."

"Act as bitter and bored as possible? Can do, mate. Can do."

When I curled up to sleep that night, I pictured Harry's smile, how he moved and how his fingertips felt brushing against my skin. They say what you think of before you fall asleep is the most important. If I mentioned this to the other lads, they would make jokes. On a sober night, Reggie would speak of how he thought of knitting and Harvey would say food, while Luca would scoff and say that he thought of fancy cars from foreign countries.

Which happened to be a lie. The question had arisen during one of our drunken nights, and we'd all confessed.

Zayn thought of how no girl would ever compare to his first love, how her ponytail bounced between her shoulder blades as she walked down the hallway, books cradled to her chest. With his hands, he waved away the ghost of her image, and his glassy eyes darkened.

Luca thought of the young teenagers, present the day he was arrested. His story is another that usually doesn't come up, but he thinks about those kids a lot. How they are, what they're doing now. And Luca, who swears all religion is shit, will pray to any ethereal being he thinks might be listening that those kids are having the best damn life possible. It's just like him to be a compassionate prick.

Reggie thinks of his mother, how she used to put Band-Aids over her arms so he didn't know about the drugs she injected herself with. He thought of how she would lay her head down on the kitchen table and cry and curse Reggie's father, who had enough money to buy six houses but after his death left them on the street. He'd gambled all his money away. Reggie told us he thought about the night before she died, how she tiptoed to his room and kissed him on the forehead, and when he woke up she made up a bedtime story for him, right off the top of her head.

He wrote it down, he told us, years later. Read it to us once, and then let us read it ourselves multiple other times.

The next morning, he went to fix himself a bowl of cereal and found her with her head down on the table. She never woke up.

Harvey told us that he thought of how much he took for granted in his old life, how easy of a job he had, how he could sit outside and appreciate the sun and sweet air. He told us that the time where he still appreciated these things were most important, because it meant that those times existed and were not lost in the desperation of the present.

When it was my turn, I didn't know what to say. I told them I thought of my mother, but really my thoughts were scattered and distant. Thinking would have kept me up longer, and I didn't want that. I valued the lulls of blackness and calm.

But that night, I thought of Harry, and when I awoke, I thought of him. His image swum before my closed eyelids, and his existence hung about me like a warm summer breeze. And I knew he would love that comparison. My brain had a hard time shifting to rational thoughts through the haze of happiness, something it couldn't be used to. Everything else in my life had been neutral to decent at best.

Harry said the morning yoga session took place in the park, about the time the sun was rising, so it was still dark when I shook Zayn awake. For a moment, he was confused, but when I reminded him of where we needed to go, he grumbled a few curse words and hauled himself up.

"I can't believe I agreed to this shit."

The walk to the park proved to be quiet, with Zayn only mentioning every now and again that he had lost his mind, that I had lost mine a long time ago, even though I'd already told him that Harry and I hadn't known each other long enough to use that phrase. I only had half a heart to argue with him because I did feel bad dragging him out of bed so early.

As we neared the park, I tugged my beanie tighter over my ears. The morning wasn't chilly. In fact, it was quite a pleasurable warm that would certainly become a sweltering heat by noon. But my hair looked a terrible mess, and I didn't really want Harry to notice, so beanie it was.

"Oh look, there are your new best friends," Zayn said in a dull monotone.

On a stretch of lush grass were a good two dozen people, some wearing the same crown of flowers that Harry had worn the first night I had seen him. Maybe it was just hippie fashion. All of them were chatting and laughing, and most were doing a couple of warm ups while sipping at water bottles. The girls had long hair, thick with waves and leaning towards the greasy side, but a few normal looking girls were huddled together near the front. They didn't match the rest of the group, with their dyed hair and brand name sports gear. Their fingernails were painted hot pink.

Still, the only girl that really stood out was almost completely bald, but also proudly wearing the flowers over the thin layer of hair growing back. Squinting, I found something so joltingly familiar about her that I couldn't help myself; I chose a spot next to her without hesitating, even though Zayn gave me a 'what the hell' look.

"I'm Louis," I told her, attempting a few stretches of my own. They weren't as structured as hers.

She turned towards me with a wide smile and winked. Definitely familiar, and my mind was trying to draw the connection-but it couldn't quite get there.

"That's good for you. Before you even ask, it was leukemia."

She didn't say it as if she were throwing at the name of her condition for attention, just as if it was a stone cold fact and that was the end of the story.

"I wasn't…." I trailed away, guilty. I wasn't going to ask, but I certainly had been curious.

"It's okay, I get looks all the time. And the questions of course." She bent down, touching the tips of her toes. "I don't mind so much," she said, voice slightly muffed, "but it is getting old. And I'm only a few weeks in the clear."

"You're in remission?" I asked, feeling a weird sense of relief. She couldn't have been much older than me, which made the whole thing scary enough, and she was certainly cute. But I didn't have the usual urge to try flirting. Not that I would anyway, now that I could admit I had my eye on Harry. That didn't mean I couldn't make friends with Harry's friends, and this girl was spunky. I liked her already.

"I am. Cancer is tricky territory, you know. But you take it as it comes. Is this your first yoga session?"

Zayn cleared his throat.

"Hopefully our last. Louis dragged us out here because he has a crush on someone attending."

"Zayn!" I hissed. What had I told him on the way over? Oh right. Please don't make it obvious how excited I was to be here. To anyone.

"It's okay." The girl rose back up and arched her back in a cat like stretch. "I'm betting it's the yoga instructor. Lots of girls come to see him."

"Even you?" I asked, smiling.

"Nah, that would be seriously weird." Her face twisted in faint disgust.

"He's here!"

One of the mismatched girls from the front straightened up, shimmying her sports bra up to make her boobs appear bigger. Her friends looked at one another before doing the same. The hippie chicks around them rolled their eyes and shuffled away a little, as if they had an airhead disease.

"Oi! There's your lad now," Zayn said, elbowing me in the ribs.

And it was. The gathered group all settled down on their mats, perked up and attentive as Harry took his spot at the front. Liam and Niall followed after him, both taking one of his sides. I knew enough to infer that they were his assistants. Beside me, Zayn tensed up, but I couldn't focus enough to comment on it. Harry wore black athletic sweats, despite the warm temperature, and a white muscle shirt. No shoes, of course, and a flower crown made from the same flowers as the other one I had seen.

"Hello," he began in his slow, deep voice. If the crowd wasn't so attentive, it might have been hard to hear him. But everyone, myself included, leaned forward and focused on him alone.

"I'm Harry, of course. If you're new to this class we always start out rather slowly, to let you get the hang of it. If you have been here before, you know what comes next. We all partner up go over the basic stretches, as a warm up. Grab someone, preferably a new person with an older member. And we'll get started shortly."

Though he hadn't so much as glanced at me during his introduction, the second people began breaking up around us, he headed straight for me. The way he wove around the crowd and kept a steady gaze in my direction told me he must have noticed where I was standing earlier, maybe while he was walking down the hill. For whatever reason, this made my heartbeat increase and a sickening delight spread through me.

Liam followed after him, eyes locked on Zayn with an amused expression.

"Heard about the change in life. Good for you. Mind being my partner?"

Zayn shrugged, distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's whatever. I don't care."

They moved off as Harry stood in front of me, lips parted in the beginning of a smile. His chipped tooth was just visible.

"You made it."

"So I did." I shrugged, just like Zayn had, and cursed myself for being around him enough to pick up his little habits. "I didn't know you were the instructor. I thought you just attended the class."

"I used to, until we lost our old teacher. Now I do it. We hate to charge people for this sort of thing though, so I mostly just take tips."

"Fair enough. Well go on. Teach me, Styles."

So he did, entering a strangely calm and patient demeanor that I myself had adopted when teaching him how to skateboard. He showed me basics before diving into standard poses, most named after animals such as crane, dog, and dolphin. He also explained the meaning of each, how they required focus and breathing and were not simply moving your body from one position to another.

"You let that peace of mind flow to your limbs, and the next time you walk, it will be with ease."

"You've never sounded more like a hippie. But I've got a grand question."

Our heads were close as he demonstrated a downward dog pose; the girls fawning over him earlier were all craned to stare at his butt. Lucky girls.

"Ask away," Harry replied, his lips tauntingly close.

"Yoga gives you a clear mind and is supposed to make you graceful and cat like and all that great stuff. So why the hell can't you stay on a skate board?"

"I can," he protested. "I wasn't so great a few months ago, but then I really devoted myself to yoga, and I got a little better. It's fast paced things like running and, well, skateboarding, that really get me though."

"You call last night's mess a little better?"

"Well," Harry said off-handedly, rolling upward, "I might have been a little more clumsy than usual in hopes that I would see Bart's new employee. Word on the street is that he's hot."

"I've heard the same." I mirrored the newest pose-the half-moon.

"He has a lovely arse. But again, that's just the gossip." Whether Harry was red from being so bold or from the blood rushing to his face, I didn't know. I didn't care. He was flirting with me, for fuck's sake.

"Someone was telling me about how hot the yoga instructor was," I replied, trying to match his cheekiness. "He doesn't seem to be my type, though."

"You'd be surprised," Harry answered, righting himself. His eyes flitted over my body, blatantly checking me out. I almost crossed my arms over my stomach, an old and embarrassing habit, but I forced myself to remain still and soak in the obvious appreciation in his eyes.

"I think it's time to start class. Stick around afterwards, okay? I want to ask you something."

The moment he slipped away, I wanted him back. I'd heard about this instant maddening attraction my entire life. I knew that everyone singing about instant attraction and dedicating movies to it weren't all insane, but for me? I never thought it would happen.

People see things like this all the time, miracles and disasters. Yes car wrecks and plane crashes and your friends dying are terrible but they don't happen to _you_. Miracles like long lost parents returning with an explanation besides them being sorry as hell and finding a lottery ticket and winning the whole damn thing happened, but not to me. Good things never happened to me.

And then the most disastrous miracle of all happened; I really cared about someone. Now I might be the crazy one, for liking Harry, for caring about him in such a short time, but the whole point of finding someone that makes you feel so alive is that you can't remember what you did without them.

With Harry Styles, I had just stepped into a pool and found it much deeper than I thought. I didn't ask for this, really. But I was already under.

"You're making me sick with your love struck stares," the bald-headed girl from beside me said. She giggled as Harry shot a playful glare her way. Despite my earlier decision of liking her, I couldn't help but stiffen as she winked at him, and his grin grew.

"I'll try to stop," I said as evenly as possible.

I did, by the way. I tried not to watch the way his muscles worked underneath his skin, or how his eyes would skim over the crowd but stop at me. I tried not to dwell on his soft smile, the dimples that dipped into the hollows of his pink cheeks, or the way his voice hummed like a lullaby over our own private space in the world.

I tried.

But I shouldn't have had to try to stop caring about him in the first place. If I wanted to stare at him, why shouldn't I be able to?

"You like him," the girl beside me whispered, near the end of the session, and her smug tone had me on edge.

I wondered when people would stop pointing out what I was well aware of.

Before I could think of a remark, Harry ended the class without much grandeur and headed straight towards me.

"Hello, darling. Good to see you here."

For a second I thought he was talking to me and my heart stuttered, but then he drew in the girl for a hug, his arms not quite grasping her but more so hovering above her skin, as if she were a breakable figure.

"I'm glad I got out. The sun feels really nice you know, even though I've been a total vampire lately. Will you show for dinner tonight?"

"Of course I will," Harry cried, as if offended, he placed one of his hands on his chest. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Watching their exchange, I felt both annoyed and awkward. How many girls did Harry go to dinner with? Okay, so I didn't need to be jealous over a young cancer survivor, especially not this one. In fact, I shouldn't be jealous over anyone that acknowledged Harry. I didn't have any claim to him, right?

Just as I was backing away, thinking I could chat with him later (and work back up the nerve to consider asking him out), he reached out and grabbed my hand.

Without breaking his gaze away from the girl, he tugged me back towards him, smile growing wide.

"I'm also really glad you showed, because I wanted you to meet Louis."

"Louis?!" The girl placed her hands over her mouth and squealed. "I've heard more about you in three days than I have heard Harry speak of anyone. Oh, this is so exciting. You must come to dinner tonight!"

My name in her mouth twisted at my gut. I had to remind myself to breathe, in and out.

So what if Harry mentioned me to the girl?

"But…" I turned to Harry, puzzled. Did he really want two dates? I already knew I would step out of my comfort zone for the bastard, but an open relationship might be too much.

"Oh, right," Harry laughed, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "You must not have been introduced properly. Lou, this is my sister, Gemma."

Sister. Oh fuck. No. She couldn't be.

"Nice to meet you Gemma," I managed. How could I have been so stupid? I guess anyone who didn't know better would think they looked alike. Somehow, they had the same eyes.

"Nice to meet you! Do those lip rings get in the way when you eat?"

"I guess you'll find out tonight," I said, recovering quickly enough.

I needed to get it together. I could sleep when I got home, wake up, shower, and be good as new. And my mind wouldn't be so frazzled.

"Don't worry about Mom," Gemma went on, stooping to pick up her yoga mat. "She doesn't care about tattoos or anything. As long as you aren't a murder, or ya know, a drug dealer, she's gonna love you. And Harry offered to cook, thank God. I've missed his specialty dishes these past few weeks."

Harry stiffened beside me at the drug dealer part, but I merely smiled and shrugged.

"I'm not going to confirm or deny ever being any of the listed."

Harry let out a light sigh of relief when she laughed and moved away, to join a small group of hippie girls in a circle. When she approached, they expanded their circle to leave just enough room for her, all in synch as if they had been waiting for her the whole time. Seeing her with such loyal friend made me irrationally happy.

"Sorry about her…she's full of it."

"So you haven't been mentioning me to your family members?"

I lifted my chin and waited with a suppressed smile as a blush crept up his neck.

"Maybe a little. They already know I don't have a certain preference in who I…erm…date. But, I mean, it's not like we're dating. So…you don't have to come to dinner."

"Oh but I want to. It should be fun. We don't have to be committed to one another to eat in the same room, do we?"

"No, of course not." I swear there was disappointment in his eyes. "But it will be nice having you. I don't bring many people home."

"Really? Not even darling Clara?" I asked, aiming for an aloof tone, but my irritation bested me.

"Clara?" Harry scratched at his hair, skewing the flower crown. "She isn't darling anything to me. Didn't you just say that it doesn't mean anything to eat in the same room?"

"She likes you. A lot. But you're too sweet to realize it and even if you were you wouldn't turn her down."

"She likes me?" Harry asked, with all the confusion of an eight year old being tossed a 'do you like me? Check yes or no' note. "Are you sure? But I don't like her."

"But when she asks you to go have dinner with her, what does it sound like?" I asked, patiently. Around us, almost everyone had moved off. Niall was giving a few pointers to an older lady. Zayn and Liam were deep in conversation, sitting on one of the old park benches and laughing, more at ease with each other than an hour earlier.

I wanted to be anywhere with Harry but here, explaining something so mediocre.

"It sounds like we're going on a date of some sort." The realization dawned on Harry's face, and I had to fight the urge to both roll my eyes and sigh over how adorable he was, even when he was being stupid.

"Right."

"But I don't want to be on a date with her," Harry protested. "I would have asked her to my house and cooked for her."

"You just asked me to your house," I pointed out. "And didn't Gemma say you offered to cook?"

Harry peered down at our still-joined hands with another bout of realization. This idiot would be the death of me.

"Yeah…I guess we're going on a date?"

"I guess we are."

"All that falls once stood," he said randomly, after a moment of companionable silence. It took me a good five seconds of confusion to realize what he was referring to.

"And all the falls must rise again, or it shall never have existed," I concluded, my own eyes locking onto the phrase tattooed on the underside of arm.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

He touched the tattoo lightly, only to jerk his hand away as if it had burned him.

"It's…confusing. We'll just say it came from a very sad story."

"But it means something to you?"

"Oh yes. It means a lot."

"Will you tell me about it?" He squeezed my hand, not quite distracting me from the vulnerable edge to his voice. Did he think I would snap at him, tell him to mind his own business? I had before, to strangers judging me, to mothers glaring at me in the grocery store.

"Stick around, Giraffe. I just might," I eventually said. It was the first time I had (almost) agreed to tell my stories to anyone besides the lads.

Zayn waltzed up, a lazy smile gracing his face as he took in mine and Harry's entwined hands.

"Sorry, but we need to get going. Much sleeping to do, much scavenging for dinner money to take care of afterwards. Nice session, though. Learned a lot."

"Thanks," harry replied, blatantly flattered and missing the underlying sarcasm. "That means a lot. I'll see you tonight then, Lou?"

He squeezed my hand one last time and walked away without waiting for my answer.

"I suppose you'll be in the bathroom for hours tonight fixing up your hair?" Zayn snatched my arm and drug me away, setting us on the course for home. "And guess what? We won't be saving you any of our shitty food."

"Good. I didn't want the shitty food anyway. And you didn't have to be rude about the class; Harry really loves teaching the class."

"I was only half-joking. It wasn't all bad. And you do too want our shit food. And we can take your cut and put it towards the Farewell to summer carnival. It's coming up fast, you know."

"I know. Everything is." He let my arm go, humming in agreement, and the conversation should have ended there, but I wanted to pursue it. "No, really. Ask me what we were doing a month ago. In detail."

"We woke up around eight o'clock at night, showered and ate or whatever, then we went out on our drug runs and partied or whatever. On days where we all sold our stashes, we would sometimes see a movie or go for drinks or maybe go bowling. We were living the same life as everyone else, Louis. We worked, and then we had fun when we could. What are you getting at?"

"Ask me what we were doing a week ago," I pressed, avoiding his eyes.

"We…." He opened his mouth and closed it, troubled. "The same thing I guess. Why does it matter?"

"Think about how fast things just changed. We're out in the daylight, attending a yoga class. Socializing with relatively normal people. Things just…changed."

"You're starting to sound like one of them." He turned to look over his shoulder, grimacing. "But I admit it. They aren't so bad. Despite what Reggie says."

"I think Reggie is wrong about them. He just let one person ruin everything."

Zayn threw his arm around my shoulder, drawing me closer and rubbing his fist against my head.

"Look at you, being all wise. I thought the sass master wasn't capable of such a thing."

"Sass and wit are cousins."

"And you're an idiot."

As we neared home, he cleared his throat, a habit he had when nervous.

"Liam's a nice guy."

"He is, from what I know," I agreed, confused at the subject change. Then I looked to him and found a certain kind of misery in his eyes that I hadn't seen for a long while. "Ah, hell, Zayn. Do you like him?"

"No! Not ever. You couldn't pay me to like one of those flower bastards. But he's nice, yeah? And him and Niall seem very cozy?"

"They do," I agreed, dragging the end out like a question. "Cozy as a porcupine and an eel."

"What?" Zayn gave a short half-laugh involuntarily. "What kind of an analogy was that?"

"Mine!" I hooked my arm through his and bumped him with my shoulder, trying to keep the smile on his face. "And it was so infuriatingly clever that I understand if you require a few hours in the bathroom to ponder the wonder of it. But I do need it an hour prior to my…well…'spose it's a date."

He shook his head, trying to be stern, but broke out in laughter a moment later. Everything was great in that moment, exactly as it was. Normally I feared losing these brief times of contentment, but for once I had hope that if things were to change, they would only get better.

"Black skinny jeans, for sure."

Reggie pulled them from our pile of stuff, examining the wrinkles in them with a scowl.

"Regardless of that, you will rock them. They make your butt look out of this world. Even more than usual, that is."

"What are you lads doing tonight?" I asked, accepting the black jeans that were thrown my way. I trusted Reggie's fashion sense. He was by far the straightest gay guy I'd ever known, and despite his prior hesitation, once I told him every detail about Harry I could without spewing out enough mush for a teen romance novel, he was on board to help me wade through the most choppy waters I'd ever faced; what to wear on the first date.

"Working," Luca said from the couch. He and Harvey were putting a puzzle of puppies and kittens together, but it was one of those puzzles with at least 10,000 pieces, so the clearest thing I saw was the eye of puppy. "Suppose we are going to have to get used to that. Did you get off tonight for this date?"

"Nah," I said, trying not to feel sick at the word date, not because I wasn't excited, but because I my stomach had tied itself into thick knots of nerves and anticipation. "I'm going after. I start about 8."

"I'll see you there!" Harvey proclaimed, excited. He picked up a few pieces and studied them before tossing them down with a huff of annoyance. "I can't find the black puppy's tail. If we don't get that part finished before work…"

"We will," Luca soothed, his rich voice soothing, kind of like a late night radio deejays. "You just need to practice patience, Gingy."

From the kitchen, Zayn emerged, eating a bowl of Cheerios with a bored expression.

"Do you need any flirting tips?"

"No, Zayn. I think I can manage well enough. This isn't my first date ever."

"It's your first in a long time," Harvey pointed out, rather sensibly. "Just don't be nervous."

"And cut back on the curse words," Reggie added, digging through the pile of shirts. The only way they were discernible was my size small and Luca's extra-large. Even then, we made do for the most part. Luca couldn't fit my shirts, but everyone else's worked just fine.

"I can't believe I'm helping impress one of them," he added as an afterthought. "Just don't blow it, or I'll be pissed. Oh, and this is the one."

Without looking my way, he threw a dark red sweater my way, one that hugged my biceps but didn't cling to the slight roll of fat on my stomach that I had always been so sensitive about.

"Is it not hot out there?" I asked, thinking it a sensible enough question that didn't deserve the look of irritation Reggie presented.

"It cooled off while you slept. Now, your red Vans or your red toms would both work And rolls the sleeves up to flaunt the tattoos. She might as well know what her son's getting into. Literally."

"Christ, Reggie!" I felt my face go hot as Zayn spat out his cereal and sputtered with laughter. Luca did his best to be mature, but even he cracked a smile.

"Oh I assure you, Christ has nothing to do with this. This is a controlled bad boy look. Leave the eyebrow ring and snakebites in though. You'd look freaky without them."

"Agreed."

I changed in the bathroom, patting at my feathery hair and tugging on the hem of my sweater, trying to assure myself I looked okay, that it shouldn't matter anyway, but it did. It all mattered, and I hated that. Even as a child, no matter how much I liked to stand out, I was scared of people judging me, tearing away the balance I had found in myself. And no matter what people said, no matter how many roses I received on Valentine's Day or innovations to dances, I couldn't find myself comfortable in my own skin. So I rebuilt it with ink and stories and pictures of life and promises and memories. My mind flooded my physical being.

It started simply, with a single tattoo of a raven taking flight between my shoulder blades.

One tattoo turned into a sleeve, and soon I had a quarter sleeve on my other, as well as ankle tattoos, and rib tattoos, and countless others. I couldn't love what lay beneath the ink, so I hated covering it up.

When I finally gave up on my hair, I rolled the sleeves of the sweater up, the tattoos a welcome sight. If anything, they distracted people from the areas I was more sensitive towards.

Before I could chicken out or spend another prolonged amount of time fussing over myself, I went outside and grabbed my skateboard, reciting the directions to Harry's mother's house in my head. We all knew the area well enough, and didn't mind walking, but it was about time we chipped some money towards getting the car fixed.

"Have fun!" Harvey called, his voice causing me to jump. He was hanging from the open window.

"Practice safe sex!" Zayn tacked on from somewhere inside, snickering.

"You can't see me but I'm giving you the precious gift of the middle finger!" I yelled back.

The neighborhood gave way to the central part of town, where restaurants and clubs flourished, along with the assorted expectants of a normal place; doctor's office, a pet store, and a formal wear store where every girl purchased her prom dress and every boy bitched about renting their suits.

Harry's mother lived in the quainter part of the town, with wrought iron gates and various flowers lining the Technicolor sidewalks. Her home might have been the same as the rest, if it weren't for the ceramic cats lining the porch. I recited the address in my head, just in case, but one look and I knew that I'd found the place.

To affirm this, Gemma bounced onto the porch, wearing a pink sundress and a yellow bandanna around her head. Her eyes zeroed in on me, from my hand resting uncertainly on the latch of the gate to my lip rings.

"Woooooow! You look hot. Harry's going to lose it."

"Get in the house!" Harry said from behind her. He emerged, his annoyance thinly veiled at best. "You're going to scare him away."

"I've been through more frightening things, Giraffe. I swear."

Her words had a paralyzing effect on me. She _had_ been through some terrible shit.

I unlatched the gate and stepped through, noting the overgrown grass as I walked. My line of work taught me to read people. Harry's mother either had a severe lack of a man in her life, or Gemma's condition had been rough in the last few weeks and distracted any male figure (such as Harry) from cutting the grass. Or, if she cut the grass herself as my mother had, she was too pained to do so.

"Ignore her, please. And pretend the cat statues don't exist."

I watched as Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and nervously wrung his hands. Tonight, he wore tight jeans and a peach shirt with flower designs on it, and though I would never say it out loud, I was almost positive it had come from the girls department. The flower crown was still in his hair.

"I like cats, I guess. If that's what you're into, that is."

"I love cats," Harry said, almost reluctantly.

At the foot of the steps, I paused and looked up at him, how he towered above me but still came off as being a small person. Sure, I had my insecurities, and my height was pathetic at best, but I had learned to be strong. Luca taught me how to fight, from his years on the boxing team at his school. Harvey had taught basic defense and such at the campgrounds, though I had no clue what any of it had to do with camping. No wild creatures were going to be trying to start a wrestling match.

And Zayn and I had been fighting since we could swing our arms with enough precision to actually hit each other.

I was strong physically, if not emotionally. I wondered if the opposite were true for Harry.

"Do you want to come in?" Harry asked, when I made no move to do so. He shifted again, all signs of confidence from the yoga session gone.

"No, I thought we'd eat on the roof."

His head jerked upward, eyes wide.

"Joking! I'm joking. Yes, I would love to come in." When he didn't show any signs of loosening up, I added, "In fact, the only thing I would like more is to have tickets to see The Fray."

"The Fray?" he groped behind him before finding the handle of the front door. He opened it and waited for me to go through first before following.

"What's wrong with The Fray?"

"Nothing! It just seems so…tame. Compared to the bands I would have guessed as your favorite."

His eyes swept over my arms pointedly.

"Then what's your favorite?"

"The Beatles."

"Of course it is. Why am I not surprised?"

"Elvis is a close second," he said, meekly attempting to sound irritated. The poor boy obviously couldn't act.

"Again, no surprise. You're predictable, Curly. But that's okay."

He smiled brightly before taking the lead towards a cheery kitchen with walls painted a soft and subtl green that locked in the wonderful smells of flood slow cooking. In front of the stove, a woman poked timidly at a stirring spoon.

"There you are!" The woman, who must have been Harry's mom, threw her hands up with exasperation. "Gemma said you ran off and I had to stir this mess. You call this pasta?"

"You're used to your blackened pasta, Mum. This pasta will actually taste good, eh?

Harry's mom was pretty in a timeless way, with a lean frame and dimples to match her son's. When she saw me, her playful tone changed to one of open delight and excitement.

"You must be Louis! I'm Anne, sweetheart. Oh, Harry, he's so handsome!"

She made quick work of wiping her hands on a dish towel before hurrying over to me, arms outstretched. Awkwardly, I returned her hug, thinking the last time I had embraced anyone had been a prostitute and that might not bode over well as far as first impressions go.

"Muuuuum!" Harry whined from behind her. "Did you and Gemma make a pact to embarrass me tonight?"

"Of course not," she cried, whipping around-and taking me with her-so that she could glare at her son. "I'm just excited that you brought a handsome man home. Is that a crime?"

Before Harry could, undoubtedly, agree, a loud raucous ensued from the front door, and then the rest of his hippie gang poured in with Niall leading the pack, swinging Gemma around in his arms.

"Liam, Niall, Gemma I already kissed you this morning but I will again, and Donald."

She kissed each person as she said their name, Gemma squealing as Niall tickled her sides. Harry merely looked pained at the sight of them.

"What are you lads doing here?" he demanded.

His group finally turned to acknowledge him, with only Liam's face expressing a slight bit of shame.

"Harry, welcome them!" Anne said, aghast at her son's rudeness.

"Gemma mentioned a family dinner to us," the hippie named Donald said. He happened to be the same one from the park the other night, the one Zayn hated most, the one I thought might have been a bit too protective of Harry.

"We are family after all!"

Niall sat Gemma down and took Liam's hand, swinging it back and forth to emphasize the point. All their shirts had either peace signs or flower designs, and again they had the flower crowns.

I had to ask about those, like when they took the time to make fresh ones every day or why they even bothered.

"I didn't make enough to control Niall's appetite," Harry protested meekly.

"We didn't expect you to do something so impossible," Liam teased. "Now sit down and let's eat!"

They all rushed the table, Donald pulling chairs from the corner of the room while Harry watched on with an expression halfway between amused and annoyed. But from what I knew of Harry, he couldn't be truly annoyed at anyone, especially his friends, so he turned to the stove with a shake of his head and began making two plates while his friends quizzed me in a typical brotherly way. Except Donald, who watched with a surly pout.

"Have you always grown up here?" Liam asked, leaning so that his elbows were on the table.

"For as long as I can remember. I went to secondary school until I got out at sixteen, played some football, then tried a few careers, but nothing clicked."

"Do tattoos hurt?" Niall asked, seriously. He'd been the most reserved towards me, but maybe I was winning him over.

"Some spots do, yeah. But I think they're worth it."

I kept my chin up as all of them, even Donald, peered at my forearms.

"What do you do for a living?" Donald finally asked, leaning back and turning his stare over my shoulder to Harry and Anne.

"I work at Bart's Clothing right now, you know, in the Night Life Skate Park."

"No, I meant the other thing."

The sound of silverware clattering to the floor interrupted us.

"Harry! Pick up those forks. For pity's sake, Niall is about to eat the end of the table and you're dillydallying."

"Sorry, Mum." Harry's ears were red.

Donald, thankfully, did not pursue the rest of the conversation, instead shrugging and shoveling food into his mouth from the moment Anne placed it in front of him. I turned, feeling excruciatingly out of place, and found Harry holding a plate out for me.

"They're done with the interview, if you want to go now."

"Go where?" Donald asked around a mouthful of pasta.

"We're eating on the roof," Harry said, matter factually, and he set off through the nearest doorway without looking back to see if I followed. Which, of course, I did. He led the way through a living room with overstuffed couches and up a set of stairs with more ceramic cat figures placed on each step. Plants hung from the ceiling, from ferns to actual flowers spilling over the plastic pots. As a result, dried petals littered the floor.

We turned left once upstairs, and into a bedroom that was unmistakably once Harry's. For one, it smelled faintly of him, with his mingled scent of the ocean and flowers, and another give away was the music posters hung everywhere, faded and peeling at the corners. A fat tabby cat curled up on his bed, its whiskers twitching as Harry placed his plate on his nightstand and proceeded to pry open the window.

"What's the cat's name?" I asked, moving to pet him.

"John." Harry grunted as the window finally slid open. Downstairs, Liam was screaming at Niall over something, while Gemma's giggled drifted up through the floors. But as much as I liked them-save for maybe Donald-I wanted to be alone with Harry.

Even though he was stupid enough to name his cat John.

"As in John Lennon?" I guessed, rightly.

"Well of course. I had a black cat named Elvis. Meanest bugger ever, but I loved her anyway."

"Her?"

"Her."

Harry nodded before crawling through the window and onto the flat leveling of roof that looked down into an overgrown yard. In the middle, hanging from an old tree with knobby limbs, was a wooden porch swing. The effect of the flowers and weeds curling around it was almost timeless, and a little sad. Had Harry and Gemma played on that swing, before her cancer? Or had she been the type to not cling to her childhood because of everything surrounding her life?

"Hand me my plate, would ya? And give me yours, I can go ahead and sit it out here for you."

"You know I was joking out there about eating on the roof."

But I obeyed after shaking off the last of my doubts, and joined him outside. At first, we ate in silence. This would be the first time we were entirely alone with each other, and the sensation was new, the ground uneasy beneath us. But soon we found that the silence was not necessarily awkward, but sweet in its opportunities. Anything could be said right then, any question asked, and something about that felt precious.

When the fireflies began floating up through the tangled jungle beneath us, Harry set aside his now empty plate and moved closer to me.

"Putting the moves on me?" I joked.

"No, just getting ready for my own questionnaire."

"Oh, have mercy. What deep and wonderful questions have you prepared for the occasion?"

"Will you go to prom with me?"

Harry said in a rush, and once the words were out he bit down on his lip with a determined look that challenged me to laugh.

"Prom? That dance near the end of your school days? Isn't that kind of formal? And a bit off?"

"Yeah, but by then I'll be 18 and ready to leave. I can work in Mum's bakery for a bit longer and then get started at Uni."

"A bakery?" I bumped his knee with my own, widening my grin. "How sweet. Just what I'd expect from you, Cupcake."

"Again with the pet names. How many more are you going to come up with?" Harry asked, seemingly pleased by the prospect.

"As many as you can possibly imagine. I think I get the right to annoy you if I'll be attending…" I scrunched my nose up at the word, "….prom."

"You're going?"

Despite my face, he brightened, straightening up and leaning even closer to me, so that I could smell the remnants of dinner on his breath.

Prying my eyes from his lips, I took to his eyes and found them just as frustratingly attractive.

"Yeah, I'm going to your damn prom. But you owe me. Something really big. Roughly to the proportion of either buying me a Lamborghini or making more of this wonderful pasta. But I'm going to go out on a limb here and insist on the car."

He threw back his head and laughed, so that it echoed through the streets below and became lost in ensnares of grass and hidden flowers. I hated how much his laughter enthralled me, how it put me so at ease. But I loved it more than I could ever despise it.

"I'll see what I can do. Say, do you mind if we stay up here? Just until you have to work?"

"Sure, Hazza. Anything you want."

"That makes four names," he said, with a grin that surely must have been painful to accomplish.

He reclined, putting one hand behind his head and taking mine with his other. Before long, I joined him, pressing close to his side and watching his chest rise and fall, admiring the way the fabric clung to him. The way a certain happiness clung to him.

"Who's counting?" I asked. Though I thought it was too late for him to remember what we were speaking of prior, he smiled again. Not the face pinching kind, but the in the way that told me he was thinking of something, something that made his heart beat beneath our tangled fingertips.

"Me. I have been since we met."

"And now we're on a date." As I let that sink in, he turned his head to me, our lips impossibly close. There was nothing left for us to do but kiss.

"How did that happen?" he pondered, breath teasing me. "I know I'm not your type. You know I'm not yours."

"Not your type? How could infuriatingly handsome not be anyone's type?" I demanded.

"You know what I mean," he said, now a little sad. "I thought I would just pack it up and be asking Donald to the dance before much longer. I was going to ask him that night at the park, but then you show up…under circumstances I hate thinking of, and I couldn't stop thinking of you. It was stupid, really, to like someone so much so fast, but then I just decided I liked being near you. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Of course," I replied quickly, my eyes fixated on his lips. Now would be a good moment to kiss him, I knew, but his expression had turned so vulnerable it would feel like a thievery. Instead I wiggled even closer, sealing off the opportunity for a kiss in turn of him burying his head into the crook of my neck. The feel of his soft hair and the scratching of the flower petals weren't as desirable, but he was close, right?

"I suppose it works. But you should know that my career on the streets as a both the biggest and baddest smart ass is now tarnished."

"Sorry," Harry replied, genuinely so. Just like him to care so much about something so silly.

"You're worth it."

He was, after all, but him saying something about Donald bothered me, more than any girl flirting with him had. Donald, Liam, and Niall were Harry's family, but I'd known from day one that Donald had an uncanny interest in Harry, and Harry had, more or less, been aware of that. What would have happened if I'd listened to Luca that day and let Zayn go sell on his own? Would Donald be sitting with him on the roof, holding his hand and thinking how messed up but wonderful the whole situation was?

"That's good to know. I've been kind of worried. So you've been interviewed. Anything you want to hear about me?"

'Everything,' I thought.

"Whatever you want to share," I said aloud. "Tell me something you want me to know about you. I'll listen if you talk."

Something changed in his posture. His shoulders became stiff against my chest, and his lips brushed over my skin as they formed a frown. Then, he poured out in a rush, "I'msoscaredforGemma."

He took a quivering gasp of air before burrowing further into my neck, as if trying to hide from what he'd just said.

"Why, Hazz? She's in remission, right? And she came to yoga today, which is such a good sign."

Maybe I was reassuring myself as well as him.

"I know, I know." To my alarm, I felt a tear on my neck. Dammit all, he was crying. How the hell did I comfort someone who was crying?

Like the genius I was, I managed to sputter out, "Oh no, please don't cry."

"I'm not!" he insisted, crying harder. "I've just had no one to talk to about this. Mum would lose it and Niall and Liam are so busy with each other-oh that came out wrong. And Donald would pester me about it until I wanted to strangle him-"

"Now that's my hippie," I crowed. "Typical peace loving bastard, threatening to strangle his best friends."

"You curse too much," he hiccupped. He was giving me an out, letting me know he had breached sensitive ground and I could back away and let it be if I wanted. But if Harry wanted to discuss Gemma, I would listen.

"Why are you scared for her?" I prompted.

"She's-well." With a deep gulp, and tilted his head, so that his words were not as muffled by my sweater.

"Well?"

"She's…adopted," he finished lamely.

I said nothing in return, thought it best to keep my mouth shut, and he mercifully goes on.

"We know she had this family, not parents but like an aunt and an uncle who didn't want her, and mum worked at the hospital and volunteered first when she heard. But she was already older-like 13- and she got her cancer the next year. It just really sucked, that I got this great sister and we shared this immediate bond right off and then the rest of our time together is tragedy. That can't be how it's supposed to work."

"But she's getting better, right?" I soothed him, rubbing circles into his back.

"The doctors talked to Mum and me, just last week. They told us that she was in danger of regressing and that we didn't need to get out hopes up. I don't know what to do. My little sister went from playing with dolls to having to learn an extensive medical vocabulary just to keep up with the chances of her living or dying. It's so unfair, and the bills are killing us. I've been trying to find a third job outside of mowing lawns and Andy's, but not many places are willing to work around my schedule. I work at the bakery too, just about twice a week, so Mum doesn't have to hire anyone new. And with fall coming people won't need me to cut their grass anymore…"

It was a lot to process, and he was hurried, like he could sense me being overwhelmed with the information overload, but I wanted to hear more even though my mind was counting up the hours he worked in my head.

"Jesus, Harry. Do you sleep?"

"Not really, not anymore. I go to school for a better job, and when I get out of school I go to the bakery and help a little until I have to cut grass until around nightfall and then I go to Andy's until just an hour or so before school starts. And on the weekends I do the yoga classes, and hell I shouldn't, but Liam and Niall insist I take the tips for the bills. My insomnia was pretty bad before, but now I don't know if it's still the reason I don't sleep. I don't have time anymore."

"You don't sleep when you get home from Andy's?" I asked, not expecting a yes.

"I do my class work then."

"Sleep now," I whispered in his ear. "You obviously aren't working at all today. So sleep."

"Today was a rarity and a luxury I can't afford…." He let out a yawn. "But you'll be here when I wake up?"

Even then, his eyelashes fluttered close. He had already made up his mind, as had I.

"I will be," I said, my heart breaking. I hated lying, because it all boiled down to one thing; Harry and I could not be together. I had known that all along, but I'd pursued him anyway. Bumper would call soon, giving us the green light to sell again, and Harry would inevitably find out. The only reason he had bothered asking me on this date at all is because he thought I had broken away from that part of my life. He didn't know I was lying before we were even something.

I could bring my mess into his heartache, I couldn't bring the things I did into this cheery home with its plants hanging from the ceilings and the hand stitched quilts. It wouldn't be fair. And I couldn't ruin something that he could have between Donald, someone like him, while he was pursuing someone dirty and used like me. Besides, he'd said it himself. He had no time for sleep, so where would I fit in?

I kissed his forehead and hummed my own little tune until his breaths were soft against my own. I had no chance in hell of carrying him anywhere, fighting strength be damned. But when he vaguely woke up a few hours later and stumbled into his bed, he was too out of it to notice that I didn't join him.

Instead, I slipped out the door, past his friends and mother gathered in the living room, and out the front door.

I prayed I wouldn't see him again.

I might fall in love with him, or even worse he might love me. And if that were to happen, things wouldn't work out right.

My track record was already, at best, an abomination. But when Harry got to know me further-the mistakes I had made, the people I had lost because of my stupidity, and the places I used to have to deal with for money…well, I wouldn't want to put him through something like that. And he needed to spend time with Gemma while he could.

I wouldn't want the Harry I cared about ripped apart by the cruelty of reality. Let him live his life, in his imperfect bubble and in the warmth of his family's love. Let him be happy in his home without opening the door and seeing the world was an ugly place and that world was all I had ever known. Let him stay inside and keep his smile, and that way I could keep mine.

When I returned home, Zayn was sitting up in his pallet, tapping his fingernails against the screen of his phone.

27 text messages.

"How did it go?" he asked eagerly. His expression shifted when he saw me clearly.

"You're not going to talk to him anymore, are you? You're doing your heroic thing were you let them go so they can find someone sweet and caring because you don't think you deserve shit."

"I don't," I said, voice breaking. I tend to hide this part away, to keep it buried under and in my inked skin. These are things people do not see, things that people judge so fast that I regret being alive. "And don't tell me I do. Not after everything I've done."

If I was telling this to anyone else, they would have laughed, but Zayn had been there through it all. He understood.

And, like the truest friend I've ever had, he rubbed my back while I sobbed into my frayed pillow. Crying made me feel so pathetic, so weak, but I didn't know what else to do to get rid of the all-consuming sadness welling in me.

"That's exactly why you deserve something, Lou."

Harry did not know where we lived, but I still had to avoid him the last few days I worked. He stopped by the store three times, rough voice asking Bart if I'd been in, and the gruff man would simply say, "Haven't seen him kid. Sorry."

When the bell chimed and he left, Bart would look down at me crouching behind the counter and say, "Coward."

I knew I was. But how fast Harry had opened up to me was alarming. How much I cared and thought about him after such a short time was fucking terrifying. Whatever we had couldn't carry on, or we'd both be hurt by the crash. Reggie didn't bitch at me about ruining things like he said he would, and Harvey told me to go ahead and quit at Bart's so that I could save everyone the heartache.

A week after I left Harry at his home, I told Bart goodbye and took on Luca's job of sorting out bills and dividing money while the others worked. When I received my first, and only, paycheck, the lads insisted I go get something for me with it.

Kelvin, the tattoo artist who had attended to me since I was seventeen, met with me and tattooed my hands with fancy spades designs and intricate tribal bands leading up to mesh with the rest of my tattoos. Some of my tattoos weren't even personal. They just were. There were days-much like today-were I just sat down, pointed at a blank patch of skin, and said, "Go for it."

There was some type of honor in being an artist's canvas, and Kelvin had never let me down.

Harvey tried, at first, to mention Harry.

"He's been asking about you, Louis. He's really hurt and confused. Says he thought you two would be official by now and he doesn't know where he messed up. Maybe you should…"

"Can it, Harv," I snapped waspishly. "I'm not talking to him. He's going to realize what a mistake I was very soon. Then he probably won't even remember my name."

Internally, I was burning with agony at the thought of Harry pouting, pestering Harvey and asking about him making mistakes when they were all mine. Of course he would blame himself.

"Okay," Harvey agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Another couple of weeks passed, until the Farewell to Summer Bash arrived. The carnival came into town, cheap rides and stuffed animals galore. I'd managed to successfully sulk in peace, hardly leaving the home save for some late night grocery runs and going to the movies with the lads.

The day before the carnival, the stench of cotton candy clung to Harvey's clothes when he returned from his shifts at Andy's. Harry's name being blacklisted, he spoke with eager fervor of the rides he had seen going up from the windows, and how the firework wagon had rolled in with the promise of dazzling everyone more than they ever had been in their lives.

"You're going, right?" Reggie asked, prodding me.

"I guess," I mumbled. In truth, I'd become a hermit, huddling in the house and staring at numbers on cards, trying to see what we could afford while I rubbed cream on my itching tattoos. In all honesty, my mind had adjusted itself to the silence, to rejecting advances from the few girls I did see when I went out anywhere. All I could think about was how sticky their lip gloss would be, how overwhelming their perfume would be.

The prospect of going to a full blown carnival thriving with people screaming and giggling in my ear would be an unwelcome change to the routine.

Zayn emerged from the bathroom, saving me from answering. He took in the sight of Harvey and Reggie cornering me and Luca reading the paper before clearing his throat.

"Bumper says we should be good by Saturday to start selling again."

The words had a grand effect on all of us; even Luca flashed his white teeth in one of his rare and honest smiles.

"About time! Why didn't you tell us sooner, Malik? We've been waiting for this news!"

"I wanted to be sure Louis heard it, but the main hold up was walking the distance from the bathroom to here when I got the text message. Maybe it will get Lou out of his funk."

"Harry still mentions you," Harvey mumbled, as if unsure of himself.

"HARVEY, DAMMIT ALL."

Zayn slammed his fist down on our makeshift kitchen table, which folded into itself until it was a flat rectangular slab.

"Go sit in the corner and don't mention the flower bastard," Reggie barked.

Harvey dutifully put his hands up in surrender as he backed away and into the corner where we kept all our clothes. There, he sat atop the piles of shirts and jeans, still listening to our conversation but certainly not contributing.

"Sorry, man." Reggie patted my back, and I flinched.

"Sorry for what? He doesn't matter."

No one seemed to believe me.

It was, as you can guess, with great reluctance that I pulled on a torn tank top and ripped jeans and followed them to the beach, skateboard tucked under my arm.

Cloversville was the first thing we learned about in our small history classes at the local school. Our town had been first among the settlers, founded by a chap named Barkley would later swore his name meant he had a past life as a dog before he went raving mad. No one really knew what to think of him, though any scholar will swear he's a genius. Anyway, when his ship pulled up on the coast and they docked, he hiked up the hill to a spot a few miles from Bart's and collapsed in a field of clovers.

According to people, but not to the history buffs, everyone thought it strange the particular plant grew so close to the beach, and more so since a majority of the clovers had four leaves.

This was not exactly considered lucky, but instead special. So this chap, Barkley, told his shipmates that he'd found the spot he'd wanted to live. The story is odd, at best, but our town had a mascot, history, and legends all built around Barkley and his obsession with the clovers growing so close to the sand.

The small town, however, still had it's broken up parts. The magical place that Barkley had boasted of had expanded, the population spilling into broken down neighborhoods and then the better gated communities on the hills, surrounded by, you guessed it, clovers.

All this has to do with why, when we arrived at the carnival, everyone boasted clover themed shirts. The Farewell to Summer Bash marked the time period when Barkley founded our town, and the time period where no one would pick another clover until summer came again. It was all superstitious, but in a rundown town like ours people needed something silly to hold onto.

"I bet the Irish lad loves this," Zayn whispered in my ear.

"Niall," I corrected him automatically.

"I know." Zayn made a face. "I've known him before this."

I jerked my head up to meet his eyes, shocked. I certainly hadn't known that bit of information.

"Oh look, rides!" Zayn dashed away before I could properly confront him. Disgruntled, I shoved my hands and my pocket and slipped away from the rest of the group, weaving through a sea of people with green shirts and girls with clovers tucked behind their ears.

A group of drunken men on stage sang Irish jigs, temporarily forgetting we were, mostly, British and not Irish. It worked though, and the crowd sang along, growing louder at the men's encouragement.

I thought I had found a safe spot to watch something, but I had just settled into the crowd when Niall himself jumped onto the stage, dancing just as you would picture him doing, legs flailing and beer slopping onto his white shirt from a bottle in his hand. My eyes landed on Liam, watching and taking pictures from the side of the stage. No sign of Harry, but it was close enough that I felt the compulsion to leave.

As I maneuvered my way through everyone, hearing the occasional chants of Niall's name, I was awash by an urgent sense of loneliness. I had friends, friends that were family, but at some point friends didn't cut it. Not that they were undesirable, and not that they were being pushed aside. But a part of my mind had opened up, filling the empty spots in my life with 'what if's', and I hated that question so much. What if I stopped being stupid and went back and told him I cared about him? Well what if I didn't? What if it was me and my friends stuck together until we were old and alone?

The worst part of those what if's is when you know the answer.

There were answers that could not be brought into my small part of reality. My loneliness would have to take a backseat, and Harry would have to go on with his life and that would be okay. We had, at best, a small mutual crush on one another. It wasn't like I was saying goodbye to him as I had my mother and sisters.

But the ache was so acutely different. I had lost a plethora of 'what if's' when I walked away from him, and even if I knew the ending, the middle of the story is what I'd always treasured most. That's when things happened, when a crossroads hadn't been reached yet. To have a happy ending, or not? Who cared. It would end no matter what. But the middle of the story could be anything. It could contain a million emotions and possibilities and the lines between those what if's and reality blurred.

I was convincing myself that the ending did matter when I walked away from the flashing lights and the distant calls, as I walked down the hill towards the beach and saw two figures sitting together on the sand. Just as I was turning away to give them privacy, one of them turned in my direction.

"Louis!"

Bloody hell it would be just my luck. I spun on heel and made to run.

"No, Lou, don't go away!"

Harry stood, just as breathtaking as he had been a few weeks ago. The vague image of him in my mind renewed itself, leaving all his details sharp on my eyelids: His shiny curls, his almost impossibly pink lips, the dimple in his cheek, and that fucking disgustingly cute chip in his tooth.

He was so happy to see me.

The figure sitting beside him, however, looked anything but.

"Hi, Louis," Donald said, standing and moving to put his arm around Harry with obvious possessiveness. To my mingled delight and horror, Harry shook him off with a shrug and skipped to me. He grabbed one of my hands in both his, and kissed our mingled fingertips.

"You aren't mad at me?" I asked, almost desperately.

'For fuck's sake, please be mad at me; tell me I'm an ass and that you can never forgive me,' I thought.

Surprise. He didn't listen.

"No! I know we were moving a bit too fast, I guess. But I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have talked to you about such things so quick, or have forced you to meet my mum so soon."

"No, no. I loved her. I loved hearing you talk. I mean, I guess it was tolerable," I amended.

He laughed, until the sound had floated away, over the waves and swallowed into the water.

"Come sit with us."

Donald didn't look excited at the prospect.

"I'm going to find Niall and Liam," he told Harry, pained. "You can come if you want."

"I'll be here," Harry said without missing a beat.

I fought to keep the satisfied smirk off my face as he scowled and trudged up the slope and into the bustling crowd. After he left, Harry tugged me to the ground with him before releasing my hand. I couldn't help but be disappointed, even after all the grief I had put us both through on what Zayn called 'my quest to save us both from myself'.

I'd expected him to be a normal human being and be angry, so that it would be a little easier to walk away.

I couldn't help how intoxicating he was, how his face lighting up made my insides squirm and how I hadn't wanted to kiss or fuck anyone since I'd met him, and even Harvey had been laid lately. I couldn't help that two weeks of telling myself he didn't matter and he didn't care as much as I didn't care all went down the drain when he said, "I missed you."

"You don't know me," I protested.

"I do. I know that you're here, and I'm not letting you escape again. I don't think I could go through missing you like I have."

"You aren't mad?" I peeked at him through the fringe of my bangs, but his expression had not changed from his face-splitting smile.

"No! Like I said, I just figured you needed space. I mean, I was upset and stuff, yeah. But I didn't plan on giving up on you that easy. I told Harvey I'd give you another week to cool off from whatever I'd done to upset you and then I'd try to talk to you again."

"You didn't do anything," I all but screamed at him. He hadn't, after all, done anything but make me feel more than I had in years. Enough that I had dreams again instead of smelling smoke and hearing the crunch of metal in my nightmares. I didn't hear my sisters crying or my mother demanding I cared for them on her deathbed.

I had dreams again, and that in itself was such a monumental shift in my life that I could never forget Harry on that basis alone. But now I dreamed and smiled and laughed in a way that I felt in my stomach, in a way that made me smile even hours later. Or at least, I had before I walked away from him.

The term attraction could never have been used so literally. I was drawn to him, almost magnetically, to his energy and his smile, and how he brought forth a buried sense of peace in me.

"I must have done something," Harry went on, oblivious to my turmoil. "I always do." He frowned, as if recalling a bad memory, but breezed on. "But it's okay. Just consider giving us a chance? If not, I respect that. But I have to warn you; you will never receive personal yoga sessions."

"That sounds dirty," I pointed out, finally able to smile and mean it.

He blushed but poked his lip out.

"Don't corrupt me."

"What? It's not like you're a virgin. Not a guy that looks like you, with all your charm on top of that."

I laughed when he didn't answer.

"You've never been with anyone."

"I've been waiting for the right person," he said, crossing his arms and turning his head away, feigning anger. Despite the facade, his lips were twitching in an almost-smile.

"Have you ever been kissed?" I asked, dubious.

"Yes, a few times," he answered, not convincingly.

"You're a liar," I breathed, and I don't know if he was about that kissing part (I sincerely doubt it) but the itch in my fingertips to touch him overtook me, and I gave in to the tension that had been building between us. I grabbed his face, relaxing my hold as he jumped, and turned his face towards me.

"I'm not lying," he insisted over ragged breaths.

I kissed him. Kissing had always wasted time in my flings. Why kiss when we could be getting the job out of the way? But this was my first kiss that didn't trail off to something else. Instead, it was just us, our lips molding together perfectly, his sigh slipping into my mouth until I tasted his breath.

The angles of our faces were made to tilt and touch, our noses brushing together in a soft way. When he groaned into me and pressed closer, I had to remind myself that we were just kissing, that's all I was proving. And he was proving something to me. The kid knew how to kiss. The way he moved his tongue in my mouth was a learned technique, and the way his fingers stroked my hair with light touch felt too good to be real. It couldn't be his first time. Not for this anyway.

When we finally broke apart, I had to pinch my palm to remind myself to keep it all slow, to not lunge at him again.

"Okay, you aren't lying," I breathed. God, those lips.

"I wasn't," he replied, cheekily. "But that definitely felt like the first kiss I ever had."

"How great do you think the second kiss will be?" I asked. My eagerness showed through, but Harry merely laughed and moved until he was almost in my lap. His towering figure, perched on my legs, was breathtaking, bleached in the moonlight that hung just over his head.

No flowers this time, but instead a tie of clovers. Even being as festive as the mass crowd behind us, I still could only imagine seeing him.

"I don't want to share you with anyone," I blurted out, mainly speaking of Donald.

"Then don't," Harry replied, dipping and nibbling at my neck, sucking and kissing in turn. "But I can't share you either. Say, what's that called?"

"A relationship." I groaned when he stopped, amused. Damn I hated his confident side but it was so sexy I loved it.

"Are we in a relationship?" he asked, touching his pointer finger to his chin in thought. "Because I don't kiss strangers. What would my mother sa-"

I cut him off by grabbing his face and pulling his lips desperately to mine. Call it what you want. A blind man seeing the sun for the first time, or a mother hearing her baby speak, and child holding a new Christmas toy and knowing that something wonderful had just been given to them.

The feelings I had found in Harry were so raw and new but so wholly precious that the tempo of my heart affirmed I would not be able to go without again.

At least not as a whole and happy person.

My mind cut off as we continued to kiss, but when we emerged from our private bubble, we found that the crowds had thinned. It was that easy to get lost in him, and that scared me as much as it enthralled me. If this was week one, what would say, month on, bring? Year one? Would I become a raving lunatic, completely addicted to the emotions he flooded me with? All I could hope was that caring so much would stop being overwhelming.

"Let's go find the others, yeah?" Harry asked. "I don't think we missed the fireworks."

We found Liam and Niall passed out on stage, having drank too much of the cheap beer Niall had drug along. They were curled in towards one another, not exactly touching, but the sight of them gave me just a little bit of hope.

Harry led the way to the less private part of the beach, where Gemma sat on a town with her head angled towards the sky. I figured she'd be the typical over-protective big sister and forbid me to be near her or Harry, but when he saw us she smiled knowingly and patted the sand beside her. The three of us watched the fireworks burst over the waters, set off from a drifting boat in the distance. The crowd ooed and ahhhhed in just the right moments, but half way through the show I blocked them out and turned my complete attention towards Harry.

I watched the colors light his face and bloom in his eyes. A part of me kept bringing up all my prior reservations towards us dating, but I couldn't stay away from him know that I'd kissed him. I was hooked.

Near the end, he turned towards me, lips already forming words, maybe to tell me about how lovely the show was. When he caught me already watching, his grin grew and he kissed me softly.

"Glad I can do that whenever I want now."

I was too.

Zayn and the others found me after the show, standing alone while Harry walked Gemma to her car. When I told them about Harry, they all looked at one another before we collapsed into one of our rare group hugs, rare as Zayn's phone being silent. A very, very unheard of occurrence, to put it simply.

"We figured when you disappeared," Harvey said, just a tad smug. "I was ready to bet money on it."

"It's just so beautiful." Reggie wiped at imaginary tears, but even he couldn't kill my mood. Harry would be taking the drunks home after he saw to Gemma, but I would be going over later, I had promised. He'd left his number with me, in case I needed to contact him through Zayn. It was as they eyed his number on my hand that Luca finally spoke.

"Like Harv said, we figured it would happen. We already let you take a cut and get your knuckle tats, but we wanted to do something else for you, just for the rare occasion of you having positive emotions for someone."

"Can it, Luca, or I'll tell everyone they designed a few characters from grand theft auto after you."

"Oh? I suppose you don't want this?"

From his jacket, he pulled a tiny cell phone. Just as older of a model as Zayn's, but a phone nonetheless.

"That's my favorite game by the way," I said in a rush, and Luca handed me the phone. As I powered it on and programmed Harry and Zayn's numbers in-they would be all I had, along with Bumper-Luca lectured me. I should have expected that.

"You're on a data plan. Do you understand? You can't send as many texts as you want. You also have limited calling. There's a number on the log that will tell you how much you have of each. We bought the phone, you buy the phone credit and stuff. Deal?"

"Deal."

I pulled them into another embarrassing group hug and sighed.

"I had no idea tonight would turn out like this. I thought I might see Harry and be miserable for a long while, but for the most part everything would return to normal. This is even better."

They all shared a smile, and I knew how much they cared right then. No, I'd never had much material wise, but I had always had them to support me. And now, by some weird twist of fate, I had Harry.

I couldn't wait to kiss him again, and thinking that made me feel giddy to the point where I damn near skipped the way home. Harvey joined me, while Reggie screamed curse words at random animals in our neighbor's yards and Luca shook his head. Zayn tapped away at his phone.

For once, things were exactly right.

A drop of poison fell into my life.

Bumper called me personally the next night. Now that he knew I had a phone, he would stop bothering Zayn entirely over sales, as he considered me his number one punching bag. After all I owed Zayn, I didn't dare complain, but Bumper was, essentially, our boss, and a terrifying one at that. He'd always had a mad temper that he tended to take out on me, but lately it had been worse. Needless to say, I dreaded answering the call when his name popped up.

"Green light," he told me, before I could get a respectful hello out.

"Green light?" I repeated, straightening up on the couch. The lads heard, Harvey dropping his puzzle pieces and standing up with a grin.

"Yes, Louis. Green light. You know where to meet me to pick up this month's stash. We've got the standard set this time around, nothing flashy or designer. You're going to have to make the drab stuff like weed seem better than ever. And don't go into any big name places. We got a clear, but I can't see too far down that road."

His piece said, he arranged to meet me, the only one besides Zayn who had ever seen him in person, and bring the set back to the others around midnight. By two a.m., we were out. The calls to our workplaces had been made, even though Harvey pouted.

"Can't we keep both jobs? It's more money that way. Come on, common sense."

"We can't live in both worlds, Harvey," Luca explained with patience. "It's too difficult. We make better money from this; no taxes, no waiting for checks, and we have fun making it, even if it doesn't add up as well as other places. Plus we have more freedom."

No one mentioned my relationship with Harry, how I had a place in two worlds and I didn't plan on changing that. What he said made sense though. The lives we had known couldn't be changed with the flip of a switch. We had grown up around this sort of thing, had thrived off of it. We knew our stuff. You couldn't expect a saltwater fish to last long in a swimming pool reeking of chlorine.

And that's what the real world was-a polished swimming pool with perimeters and lines and markers. We belonged in the ocean, bottomless and unpredictable, unyielding and feared.

Harvey mumbled something under his breath about freedom, about moving away where we could actually have it.

"No town would have us," Luca reprimanded him gently, having heard.

"There is one, on the other side of Eddington," Harvey began, the hopeful little fool.

"You've got a text message," Zayn said as he zipped up his hoodie. We were almost all set. Reggie would be sticking with me tonight. Our personalities always clashed well for the college girls. I could really play up my former involvement with football to make it sound as if I were a professional athlete.

"I'll read it on the way."

I half-hoped it would be from Bumper, lecturing me further, but it was Harry. Sweet and innocent Harry who deserved better than me and my shit but I was too addicted to him and too selfish to think about letting him go.

_**John says goodnight. Can't wait to see you again, boo bear. What are you up to?**_

With a bag of cocaine on the inside of my pocket and a dime bag of meth in my jeans to weigh me down with guilt, I answered him before shoving my phone in the pocket away from the drugs, trying my best to sharpen the line between this world and the one I was coming to know with Harry.

_**Just listening to zayn snoring. I'll be round for breakfast before I crash on your couch. tell john I said hi! Xxxx.**_


	2. Part 2

**Part II: Hiding**

_Even though_

_The angels warned me never to fall down._

_**-Barcelona, Falling out of Trees**_

_The wind is growing colder, the sun, already so lost behind the clouds is shying even further away from me. It's ashamed, hiding beneath thick gray clouds that cushion it from my story. I don't want to hear this shit either, but saying it is making me stronger. I know these words, lived them. Repeating them is reminding me of how real they were. Remembering is fueling me._

_I can do this. _

_I can. _

"_We were in a perpetual honeymoon phase," I say to the ghost of my mother. "The weeks just melted together and whenever we were apart, I began remembering the days without him. I panicked and thought I might be forced back to those days, so I tried to forget them. Harry became this…"_

_I make circular gestures with my hands, trying to find the appropriate analogy. _

"_A drug," I conclude. "Better than any drug I sold in all my years. I had one taste of him and nothing was enough. I always needed him, always missed him, and even though I could feel myself slipping into the unknown, I still wanted to go if he'd be there."_

_I sound like a right girl, but I could see my mum smiling, maybe teasing me about how I'd found the one and of course I'd want to talk about him all the time. I shift my weight; my legs are going a little numb from cold and my lack of movement. _

"_I can save you the more sappy details, like how on our first date we went a saw a chick flick and he cried his way through it. And when we got back to his flat and watched Titanic, he sobbed his way through that as well. Or how I cut my foot while skateboarding barefoot with Zayn and he carried me to his car and drove me home."_

_My mind hovers over that particular memory. He wanted to come inside, see the place I called home. I refused. I had to keep that line firmly drawn. I'd cross it for him, but if he did the same for me I could never forgive myself._

"_Things were just going so well, I didn't want to mark down the days. I should have been keeping better track of it all, should have But you see, the thing about Harry was…."_

**2013 **

**Early December**

_Time passed faster with him. _

The drab life that had been routine but accepted before had now become a countdown to see his face, a kind of game of spotting time periods where I could be with him, could hold his hands or curl into his side and watch movies on the fuzzy television at his mother's house. And with him, I found that, despite the secrets burdening me, I could peer through the rain clouds and see patches of blue.

Then autumn passed in a soft sort of way, only noticeable by the leaves that hindered a proper glide on my skateboard or how Harry grumbled at the lack of greenery. Well into the season, he surrendered, hands up and all, and proceeded to drag me into a pile of leaves that Liam had been working on gathering up all afternoon. Niall joined us with a primeval yell, and it was at that point that Liam shrugged away the taut lines in his face and joined us.

Donald didn't come around as much, once I moved into the picture. Niall said it would be for the best, since Donald had really only started clinging to them because of Harry. Once he told me this, I didn't feel the least bit sorry that I hardly saw him.

Nothing exactly monumental occurring, save for Zayn putting a blond stripe in his hair, but that was only important to him. He fretted ceaselessly about it, wondering if it made him look stupid or if he pulled it off just right.

Zayn, despite the arrogant twist of his lips or the winks that entranced girls in clubs, had a core of disgust in regards to himself that worried me some times. There were days were he wore a hat to cover it up, nervously biting his lips and voicing that maybe he should have just left his hair alone.

"Why mess with perfection?" he asked, though it sounded listless and forced.

Reggie knew this, so he teased him mercilessly. In the classic ways of our friendship, and Zayn knew this was meant to make him feel better. After a few compliments I provoked out of the other lads, he began strutting again. The fedora that he'd found under our pile of shoes was returned to the corner closet.

In all, I saw Harry at least four days of the week, trying to work around his school, work, and yoga schedule. His group of friends did not particularly care for mine, especially at first, but Liam and Zayn had formed the oddest friendship before many of us could so much as blink.

Liam brought out the hermit in Zayn, the antisocial side that I had been more acquainted with. This side of Zayn I knew to be more authentic.

They would huddle on Harry's couch and watch Disney movies, and Zayn wouldn't touch a cigarette the whole time.

"I respect Anne too much for that," he explained one day, before I could even ask.

And we did spend a great deal of time at Anne's, even though Liam, Niall, and Harry all shared a flat near the center of town, just two blocks short of Anne's bakery. I enjoyed spending time with Gemma in particular, loved her sharp wit because it was so reminiscent of Lottie's that it almost hurt being around her.

The relationship between Zayn and Liam was the furthest to develop into much of anything, however. When Niall (or Donald a few times) arrived, Zayn slipped away and returned home, or back to a bar. Niall and I certainly got along well enough, but for the most part he watched Liam with an odd sort of hurt, like his friendship with Zayn was something he hadn't agreed on.

Not that I could blame them, with how we were.

That is not to say that Niall did not like Zayn, but there were days where I could swear we were all lost brothers. Then days were Niall would just watch Zayn and me like we spoke a foreign language. I never knew which to anticipate, and guessing would make me go mad.

But Harry, to my extreme guilt, still knew nothing of my continued career in drugs. When he'd asked what I was doing for money now, I blew him off and say that we had all saved up a hearty sum and decided to live off of it for a bit while we arranged more stable careers.

That lie burned the inside of my throat.

But autumn was, essentially, peaceful. Harry and I went skating, he taught me the more advanced yoga moves until I was one of the older members that helped the new, and we sat on the rooftop talking. There, he outlined the story of his absent father, how his mother had made a herculean effort to raise both him and his sick sister on her own. When Gemma's name came up, his face darkened and I knew it was time to discuss something new. The only problem with talking to Harry was that he wanted to know about me as well, and talking about myself was a new concept.

Not a good one.

But I cared about Harry, more than I thought I could about someone. When he slipped his hand in mine at the movies or when he fell asleep beside me, his breath tickling my ear, I felt more at home than I had anywhere else. And I began to love things that I never even noticed about people.

I loved how he shook his hair out and even though it ended up messier than before, it fit him better. I grew to love the way he lost his shoes and we found them in the most ridiculous places, such as in the pantry or in John's food bowl. Even his quirks were spotlighted, such as the way he bit his lips when he watched me but didn't think I was paying attention, or the way he moved when tired, sort of slumped over and his arms swinging.

It was right at the turn of winter when my mind really surmised all this, and that I had, inexplicably, started to fall I love with Harry Styles. Which, for varied reasons, couldn't happen. The main reason being that the major part of my life was a lie, and he wouldn't have been with me if I told the truth.

Lying, once as easy as breathing, became the hardest thing I had ever done.

One night, when we were curled up in front of his ancient fireplace, he ran his fingers over my tattoos and sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"I want to know it all," he said, pressing his cheek into my shoulder. "Every tattoo and the reason behind it. I feel like I don't know anything about you and you know everything from my crap father to my sister's diagnosis and how I peed my pants at a birthday party when I was four-"

"You hadn't gotten to that one yet," I teased. "But that information is certainly valuable. I'll be sure to hold it against you later. "

"That's not how this works." Harry laughed, low in his throat. "It's your turn to tell me something no one knows about you."

"My hair is actually brown," I blurted out without thinking.

"I know," Harry laughed again. "Your eyebrows are kind of a giveaway. But I feel like I still don't know enough about you."

"My eyebrows?" I demanded incredulously. I sat up and crossed my arms. "What's wrong with them, Styles?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, not rising to the play fight. "They're perfect."

Watching his eyelashes flutter closed and seeing the soft rise and fall of his chest made me ache, deep down in my bones, in my muscles.

I wanted to tell him things, but I also wanted to keep him, but I couldn't have both for too long.

That night, it was chilly and winter was a few marks away in the calendar, so I let out a reluctant huff of air and stood, pulling him up by the hand. In that infinitesimal moment I had made a decision.

"Go get your coat, Hazz."

"We're going outside?" he sounded aghast at the idea. Nature lover he may be, the fireplace had all but put a warm spell on us, and the frigid night would break it in a heartbeat.

"Yes, of course. That's where I have to take you."

"For what?" he whined, leaning into me. His weight unsettled me.

"You said you want to know more about me, so I'll not only tell you, I'll show you."

"I'll get my coat!"

He sped off, feet pounding up the stairs and then his bedroom door banging against the wall. Within seconds he returned, my favorite black Pea coat on.

"That's not yours," I pointed out. "In fact, that's Reggie's. But I think you look a slight bit better than him."

We set out, walking close so the wind could not cut through us. Harry described a funny incident in his class, involving a chalk fight and Niall throwing a beer bottle at the teacher. Of course Niall was probably leaving school after that. The school board frowned upon drinking in the first place, but drinking at school and then throwing the empty bottle at a teacher had to be illegal at some point. When I asked if Niall might be in danger of going to jail, Harry shrugged.

"Nah. He drinks with the teacher on the weekend. He'll get out of it; he always does. I may be the youngest out of the lads, but Niall is the real baby. Everyone adores him."

"Zayn is weird around him sometimes," I pointed out before I could stop myself.

Harry's goofy smile slipped away.

"I've noticed. Liam and Niall fought yesterday, over something they both agree is silly now but it was bad. Gemma and I went outside just so we didn't have to hear them."

"Whose house was it?"

"Ours, so Mum couldn't kick 'em out. Gemma wanted to go by your house to get away from it, but…."

I smiled wryly.

"I understand. I wouldn't have wanted my sisters around any of that either."

In perfect timing with us reaching the gates of the town cemetery, Harry raised his eyebrows and asked, "You have sisters? Why haven't I met them?"

Instead of answering, I took his hand, wrapped myself into him like a security blanket, and I led the way up a small hill to a plot near the light woods. Though it might have been my imagination, I felt a dip in the temperature as we neared the neat little headstones, the final markers of five lives. They were new, hewn from a dark marble that a distant uncle of mine had paid for. I wanted to thank him, but he didn't so much as look at me at the funeral. Not that I could blame him. The grass around them had been neatly trimmed, the flowers fresh. Harvey had picked out the last bunch, oranges and reds and vibrant as his hair for Mum and roses dyed pink and sea green for the girls; their favorite colors.

For the longest time, Harry stared at the inscriptions, lips moving over the names. When it fully processed, he placed a hand on the back of my neck, as if I were a kitten, and pulled me into him. Funny thing was, I wasn't crying until I felt his own tears falling onto the back of my neck.

"Why are you crying?" I asked in a level voice.

"Because you are. And I'm the worst boyfriend ever for being with you almost three months and having no clue about this. Why didn't you tell me, idiot? I asked about your family a million times. In fact, I was starting to think you just might be embarrassed to show me to anyone."

"God, no!" I clutched at his back, grasping the coarse fabric of the coat in my hands. "I could never be ashamed of you, Angel. This isn't something I normally…"

I had to swallow back a sob.

"It was my fault. My sisters, my mother. I ruin everything. And what I do keep, what I had the chance to keep, I just give up. For so long people told me I was bad and wrong. I guess I started believing them. It had been drilled into my mind to the point where I don't remember what they thought before."

He arched back to meet my eyes. Under the warmth of his tear glazed stare, I wanted to tell him everything about them, how much I had loved them and how I made my first drug deal just to afford Christmas for them. How no ambulances came and a stranger had to help me to the hospital. But now wasn't the time. One day.

"Lou, you can tell me anything at any time, and it's going to mean something to me. Every part of you counts, the good and the bad."

"Like a patchwork person," I mumbled.

"What?" he frowned, puzzled. "What did you say?"

"It's from a story. I'll tell you later; I swear. I'm going to end up telling you everything before this is over. Whether that's a good or a bad thing."

I would, too. I would tell him everything and if he still wanted to be with me despite the lie, I would be the luckiest man alive. Unfortunately, I couldn't bear to tell him what I was doing yet. I had to keep him, had to have him in my life. I might sink otherwise.

"Take all the time you need, boo bear. I'll be around as long as you let me."

Sincere as he was, I had a sickening feeling that the second he knew what I had done, what I was still doing, he would drop me. Would I ever walk away from Harry? No. Not ever. No sole person had ever made me feel so right.

"You'll get sick of me. But until you do, how about we have some of that wonderful pie Gemma whipped up? In apologies for dragging you out here?"

"Never apologize." He pulled me close again, kissing the top of my head. "I'm glad you brought me here."

This occurred right at the end of November, and was the first break through I had in regards of our relationship. Before, I had kept my deeper emotions away from us. They just didn't belong in the play fights or the cheap movie nights. Truth be told, sometimes I still thought to myself that I didn't belong there. One mistake from Zayn, and I was falling in love with a flower child, a yoga instructor, and one of my best friends.

It was almost perfect.

That night, right as we were nearing the his house, snow began to fall, a few flakes at a time before it turned into a flurry of white that coated itself in Harry's dark curls.

"Snow!" he cried delightedly. I watched on, teeming with unabashed affection, as he stuck his arms out and twirled.

"Snow," I echoed, with a noticeably lesser enthusiasm. At least I was smiling.

He ignored me, sprinting away into a spot near the sidewalk where the snow had thickened itself. He scooped it up with his bare hand and patted it into a sloppy ball, the concentration drawing out a favorite habit of mine; his tongue sticking out from the side of his mouth.

"Are you really going to start a snowball fight with a 21 year old-"

I didn't get to finish before he pegged me in the chest, the snowball bursting and freezing my exposed skin.

I closed my eyes.

"Louis?"

"It's on, Styles."

I stooped and scraped together my own arsenal, smirking as he turned and ran around the house, fleeing to the backyard.

"Running is useless! Don't you remember I played football for years?"

"Not on the team! And I was the hide and seek champion!"

His voice floated from around the back, taunting and playful.

I didn't even have the heart to point out that the backyard was still an overgrown mess, except the green had been sucked away and left the weeds brittle and brown. If he wanted to try to hide there, he could have at it. Either way, I was getting a hit in before the night ended.

"Ready or not Hazza…" I rounded the corner, grinning wickedly. "Here I…."

I faltered, face to face with an empty yard. The swing, piled with a light dusting of snow, moved softly in the wind, but nothing else stirred. I spun, trying to spot a place where he could have gone, but there was nothing.

The snow in my hands began to melt a little.

I dropped it and wiped the cold away on my jeans, still swiveling.

Nothing. Just peachy.

"Harry Styles. You have three seconds to come out before I eat that whole dammed pie by myself."

Again, silence. Looking over the tangles of grass, I had to force myself to come to the conclusion that he had, in fact, hid somewhere. Fast, too. So he had to be close.

I spun in circles again, slower, searching for spots that could accommodate Harry's lanky frame. There weren't that many to begin with, but the one thing that caught my eye was the garbage can propped near the back door. I crept forward, sneaking glances over my shoulder and to the sides lest he sprang from some secret place I had yet to know of. All was clear. I stretched my fingers out, grasped the lid, took a deep breath, and flung it open.

"Got you! Or….maybe not."

I scratched my head, confronted with an overflowing trash bag and no Harry in sight. Just as I was pulling out my phone to call him and surrender, a giant heap of snow fell from overhead, landing directly on me and soaking into my thin shirt.

"You were so close!"

I peered up, blinking away the fast melting snow from my eyelashes, and grinned at Harry. He had perched himself on our overhang, or maybe he'd been hiding inside and came out when he noticed me distracted.

"How did you get up there?"

"I used the trashcan to grab the ledge. Knew you couldn't grasp it, on the account of you being a little pixie, so I figured I'd be safe here."

"Pixie?" I cried, outraged. I crossed my arms and craned my neck to glare at him properly. "Is it insult Louis night?"

"But you are a pixie. Like Tinkerbelle."

He put his chin in his cupped hands, his long fingers curling over his cheek bones. The snow had dampened his hair in random spots, but had flushed his skin with a sweet pinkness. Needless to say, it proved to be so hard to be mad at him.

"I'm more of a Peter Pan kind of guy," I protested.

"Nah. Tink. If Peter was a fairy…sure. Now climb up!"

He withdrew, rocking back onto his heels and leaving me space to grasp the ledge. Eyeing the small but noticeable space between the garbage can and the roof, I had to admit the inevitable.

"I won't be able to reach. We can't all be giraffes, you know."

"Oh, come on. Little baby."

Before I could make a smart remark (and it would have been genius, I assure you) he flattened himself back onto his belly and stretched his arms out. He wiggled his fingers, inviting me forward.

"I'll pull you up. Come on, it's cold up here by myself."

Technically speaking, I would be a fool to deny such an invitation. With a last farewell to my dignity, I closed the lid of the garbage can and hoisted myself up, stretching to grab Harry's hands. I scrambled against the side of the house for a moment, but when Harry took over he lifted me as easily as someone picking up a newborn kitten. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed by my height or awed and turned on by his strength.

"You constantly amaze me," I said, settling in beside him.

"That surprises no one," he replied, cheeky.

We folded ourselves into each other without another word, in our second nature sort of way. Every junction of us, my curves, his edges, all fit together in a way no one could explain. Harry and I were two different patterns cut from the same cloth, destined to be woven together again and again.

"Still cold, Tink?"

"You've got to stop with all these pet names," I laughed. "We've already got too many. What's next?"

Harry reared back a little to study my face before deciding on what had to be the hundredth name and the cheesiest yet.

"Sunshine."

I melted a little.

"Last one."

That was our last night of complete and total peace. After that, things became rough, and we weren't sure how to deal with the new intrusion on our ignorant bliss. Things became worse and worse, a little better for brief periods of time, but then worse again. We were stuck in a vicious cycle.

And we, despite all our efforts, were helpless.

It began with Gemma back in early November, and really went downhill a month later.

Reggie had finally agreed to come with me to Anne's for one of her unforgettable dinners, after which we found ourselves grouped around the television. Harry and I bundled ourselves together in a quilt from his bed, while Anne settled onto the recliner with a steaming mug that read 'Best Mum' to warm her pale fingers.

Reggie stood awkwardly before finally collapsing next to Gemma and staring resolutely at the screen with a pout.

Don't ask me when it changed. I had completely lost myself in the way the veins on Harry's hands knotted over his knuckles, but something did happen at one point. A change had to have occurred in the tiniest ripple of a second, otherwise I feel like I should have noticed.

The next time I turned to make sure Reggie was okay, he and Gemma were deep in a discussion about poetry. The main problem wasn't even that I didn't know about Reggie liking poetry, but it was how his eyes sparkled when he watched Gemma move her hands to illustrate a point. Shakespeare, to E.E. Cummings and then back to the finer works of Emily Dickinson and Poe, they talked relentlessly. Anne's eyes crinkled with a hint of a smile, but I sat there with the biggest 'oh shit' moment.

One, Harry would not appreciate Reggie and Gemma at all, and I allowed myself to think that far ahead because Reggie had that one look in his eyes, when he heard an interesting bit of news.

They were even about the same age, but it still didn't matter in the eyes of an older brother. I couldn't help feeling protective myself, even though I didn't get that claim over Gemma. Plus she was, for lack of any veiled sense of comfort, dying and it was a terrible idea to inflict anymore pain on the situation. For Reggie, for Harry, for me.

When Harry finally stood and stretched, I scrambled up with a sense of relief that I could pull Reggie away from an impending disaster. Yet the second we were out on the street, he became quiet and reserved, nothing much like the Reggie I'd known. When we were back home, huddled on the couch and playing poker, he shifted in his seat and said with painful casualness, "Gemma is really something."

"She has cancer," Harvey pointed out, not unkindly. He was simply pointing out my own biggest fear. "What will you do when she's…"

"It doesn't matter. I might ask her out. And if she'll have me, I'd be a fool to say no," Reggie replied with such simplicity that the fear dwindled until I felt nothing but pride in him. I even let him win the game that night. I mean, he would have lost otherwise, him having the best set of cards all week be damned.

One bad thing settling didn't matter. With the blossoming relationship between Reggie and Gemma (he even accompanied her to yoga, carrying her mat and water bottles) came the downfall of Liam and Niall.

The pair started getting progressively worse as December began.

They're fights echoed through the shared house, shooing away any company or any desire to be involved with them. They fought so terribly on our first triple date that Gemma and Reggie hid out at the salad bar and proceeded to be kicked out by eating the entire stock of grapes. They went out laughing, which made me smile, but Harry and I eventually surrendered as well, leaving Niall and Liam screaming at one another and banging at the table with clenched fists. The things was, Niall might have been a sloth around everyone else but only Liam really got his temper burning.

"They should have kicked them out instead."

Harry stole a wistful glance back at our uneaten meals.

"They're probably afraid to break it up. Do you blame them?"

The fights became so heated that we were afraid we might be burned if we tried to have any involvement.

Then, it became so that one little thing could set them at one another's throats, like the channel on television or the cd in the car or even the sound of Niall's chair scraping against the floor.

One night, Zayn and I found them the topic of our conversation on one of our usual runs. We'd already dropped off a bit for the football captain Zayn had spoken with those months ago. He'd been preparing a party to celebrate their most recent victory. Football basically went all year here, where it was the main sport and basically the only source of entertainment for those people who were stuck here their entire lives.

Zayn had agreed to follow me over to Spades Tattoos, where our long time tattoo artist Kelvin was always willing to buy something. Sometimes he did trades with us, weed for a small tattoo. On our way over, while I messaged Harry, Zayn nudged me.

"What's up?" I tore my eyes away from my phone, thinking he might have seen a police officer or something, but the street was abandoned.

"Liam just sent me a text. Niall brought home the dinner he preferred instead of what Liam asked. So Liam will be staying at our place tonight because he's sick of sleeping on the couch."

"I swear those two would fight over the color of the sky." I rolled my eyes. "Besides, why does he think our shit couch will be any more comfortable than their fancy furniture?"

"God knows," Zayn said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand any of them. I really don't."

So Liam soon did the unmentionable; he slept over at our house.

I had to give him props. When I opened the door and met him with a defiant stare, he didn't blink twice at our cardboard set ups or the monstrosity of clothing in the corner. He threw himself into Zayn's arms and began to cry in the way that caused his shoulders to shake uncontrollably.

Zayn, at a loss as to what to do, patted his back and mouthed, 'help' over Liam's head. Reggie, Luca, and Harvey slipped out the front door, drugs in tow. If Liam found out, we were fucked. Or at least, my relationship with Harry was fucked and they wouldn't risk that for me. They spent the night away, Reggie sleeping on Anne's couch (I felt a sickening wrench in my gut when he explained he was taking her to the hospital in the morning anyway) and Harvey and Luca slipped away to some unmentionable corner of Cloversville.

When Liam finally calmed himself and Zayn settled in on the mattress, we sat up listening to the radio and hoarding junk food and candy, trying not to wake anyone.

Our friendship was decent, but being alone with his misery wasn't how I preferred to spend my night so the candy was a small consolation.

"I'm sorry," he sniveled after a strained silence. "I know I shouldn't have come. But everything was so right with Niall all these years. I love his stupid ass self. Even though he keeps me up playing guitar and he's got talent and all but Jesus I need my sleep."

His mushy voice trickled into a tone of anger.

"And dear God, how much food does he need? You know what we fought over the night before? Who was paying for dinner. We always switch back and forth, and it was his turn. You'd think he'd respect our traditions! Plus, I have so much negative energy and yoga and meditating aren't doing the least bit of good."

"Well if yoga can't save the day I doubt this pitiful couch is going to be much comfort."

I popped an M&M in my mouth as he grimaced.

"Zayn has just been so good to me. He's the first friend I've had in a while were I've just…you know…connected. I know we don't have much in common, and the flower children and punks of this place are infamous for hating one another, but we're all doing a magnificent job of colliding, aren't we?"

"That we are. So Zayn's a good friend, huh?"

"The best!" His chocolate colored eyes warmed as he pondered the question, not searching for truth in it but searching for classic examples.

"I know he hates Disney movies, right? In fact, that's the first thing we disagreed on when we first had coffee together-"

'Coffee?' I thought, surprised. I hadn't known anything about them having coffee. Not once, and he implied that it had happened more than once.

"-but when I was sick he watched every Toy Story movie with me and then he bought me a t-shirt. But Niall lost it. Think the little bugger did it on purpose, just to get a rise out of Niall. He says Zayn is nice, but a bad influence, but I think they'd get along if they tried, don't you?"

I pictured the way Zayn and Niall both looked at Liam. And the way he spoke of Niall like a familiar sort of thing, like a well-worn book that had told him so many wonderful things and had reevaluated his life, but then a new book was released and it had something new, something fresh and it evoked a new sense of wonder. New lines, new meanings, and new structure, but it was so refreshingly different that he gushed about it.

"I think they might get on after some time," I lied. "They're doing okay most of the time but there are….isolated instances….certain days where they both seem to be in the worst mood with each other."

"I've kind of noticed as well. But honestly, Niall is killing me right now. He slept on the couch last night and Harry pouted the whole time because he was going to ask you to stay the night but was taking care of my sorry self. Sorry, by the way." He cast me a furtive glance.

"It's fine." I breathed through my nose. Why did Liam's love life have to be complicated? Okay, well maybe I wasn't the best judge of that. "Maybe Niall is just trying to make room for all the new people in your life. It's such a change for all of us and is probably hard to accept on his end. Erm. Even though we've changed our ways."

Lies.

"You're right." Liam brightened considerably. "I know! I'll invite everyone for dinner at Anne's. She won't care; she loves everyone and the more the merrier, right? Right." He nodded without letting me confirm.

"But even Luca and Harvey can come. And Donald. And we can all get a long and be happy. Right?"

I waited for him to nod again, but this time he stared at me expectantly.

"Right," I agreed with little enthusiasm. I gave it five minutes before Donald said something smart and I had to punch him or before Zayn had a fit and threw a carving knife at Niall's head.

When he finally joined Zayn on the mattress, my phone chimed with a new text message alert. Deep down, my gut told me to ignore it. Go to sleep. It will be okay in the morning, can wait until then. In the morning I wouldn't be the only one awake, I wouldn't be alone.

Luca's message told me he wouldn't be getting home in time to see me.

_**Tonight was a no go. No one is buying anything fishy and we can't afford designer right now. Deadline won't be met.**_

_**-Luca.**_

I leaned back, letting the scratchy fabric of the couch scrape at my neck. I forwarded the message to Bumper, dreading his response to the point where my eyes refused to close. What would he do? He'd thrown a tantrum once before, striking Zayn. I'd lied for him, told the lads that we I accidentally slugged him harder than I thought while we were joking around.

Zayn covered for me when Bumper hit me, during those first few months and then the few times recently.

But now he was older, angrier. Our life made for bitter people over these years, and Bumper already had razor thin patience with us.

The moment my phone vibrated, I snatched it and took the steadying breaths that Harry had taught me in yoga class. Then I forced myself to weigh the possibilities, be as sensible as Harry encouraged me to be.

The worst he could do would be to ask to meet me. The best was that he would say he understood the circumstances of suspicion surrounding us and that we could have our deadline pushed back.

I clicked it open, praying for the latter.

_**Meet me now.**_

Well, honestly I should have known better.

I crept into the bedroom, and found myself smiling at the way Liam curled into Zayn's chest. Now the trick would be to wake one without waking the other. I went around to Zayn's side, prodding him lightly with my foot.

"Zayn."

His head rose, hair sticking up at odd angles.

"Vas happnin?"

"Bumper is, happnin mate. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He sat up, voice thick with dreams but eyes wide and alert.

"Lou…you don't need to go."

I merely shook my head and backed away, gesturing to the grumbling Liam. We couldn't wake him. God knows what he would make of the context of our words.

"You'll be back as soon as you can?" Zayn demanded.

"As soon as I can," I assured again.

Bumper preferred to work out of the rough part of town, where cops didn't sniff so hard into our business because they'd kind of given up on helping anyone here. The walk didn't take long. But on the way over, I called Harry.

"Boobear?" he asked. His voice was raspy with sleep. "It's late. Are you okay?"

Shit, it was pretty late. Nearing 2 in the morning, and I'd woken him up.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just wanted to know how you were. I didn't get to see you long today."

"But we built the best sand castle."

I swear he was smiling, I could hear it in his voice.

I had to blink away the abrupt wetness at my eyes, swallow thickly, and tell myself to pull it together. I wasn't dying. I was okay. It would all be okay for Reggie and Harvey and Luca because I would make it okay. They did so much for me, and the last I could do was take the fall for them. Bumper wouldn't have it any other way.

"We did." I'm sure he heard it-the breaking; the fault lines prying away the solid ground beneath us.

"Louis, are you sure you're okay?" he sounded attentive. I could hear him rummaging around in his room. The idiot might actually be putting on his shoes to come over.

"I'm okay," I repeated, clearing my throat. Much better. "But I just wanted to hear your voice. I love it, you know."

"Do you?" Again, with that teasing tone.

"I do. Especially now. But I just wanted to call and say goodnight, and that I don't know if I can see you tomorrow. It's uh…laundry day." It was the first thing that popped into my mind.

"Again? You only did that a month ago."

"Yeah, the pile is reeking. So I'll see you within a few days. But I'll text and call you when I can."

"Alright." He yawned. "Goodnight, Boobear. Sleep well, okay?"

"Okay. I will."

I didn't have the heart to tack on a pet name. I hung up, and stepped into a crumbling Victorian styled house. According to the law, the house was unfit to live in, but it made for great meeting spots, and had been used for such in the past couple of years. It was not, however, such a great places to get the shit kicked out of you.

As I pushed my way inside, I hardly noticed him sitting on the rotted staircase across from the door; not until he stood, shadows slipping into the folds of his clothes.

"Louis." His deep voice grumbled.

Like a reflex, I jumped and tensed my shoulders, ready to swing. I'm glad it only went that far. If I hit Luca, he'd break me.

"You look well," I said, trying to stall at least for a little bit.

In fact, he did look well. He was tall, but not in the lanky way Harry was. Bumper had muscle like corded steel winding around the outlines of his body. His hair had been at least five different colors since I met him, but now it was black and hanging in his face.

"I don't fucking care what I look like, Tomlinson. What's going on with the sales? How hard is it to sale something so simple?"

"I can't say for sure, Bumper. We're all sorry."

"You're sorry?" His thick eyebrows arched in mock surprise. "Well that changes everything kid. I'm sure your 'sorry' will be paying my bill this month. Did you forget how much you owe me?"

He rummaged inside his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lightening it with a flick of his old steel lighter.

"I understand that." I didn't bother trying to argue. Zayn and I both knew that if Bumper blew off his steam on someone, the overall punishment for us wouldn't be as bad. And Bumper was right. I owed him more than I could ever repay.

"Just making sure." He took another drag off his cigarette before letting it fall, crushing it under the heel of his shoe. "I hate that you make me do this, kid. I really do."

It had always been this simple, so easy for him to go from clam to a hurricane. Zayn and I always agreed that we were his favorite group in several ways, and this happened to be one of them. And I knew he needed a punching bag.

When I volunteered, though, could I really complain about my injuries?

He beckoned me forward, and like a kicked dog, I moved towards him, mistrusting. There was no space of time where a protest could have escaped my lips; his fist connected solidly with my cheekbone. It always began that way. With my face.

It always ended with the hospital.

Zayn's voice jarred me away from my distant daydreams.

"Hospital bracelet," he warned.

"Shit," I mumbled. I pried it off, and then tossed it into the nearest trash can. We were meeting Gemma, Harry, Liam, and Niall for lunch, the first outing I'd had in the three days since Bumper beat the shit out of me. If Harry noticed any faint bruises today or maybe how I winced when I moved a certain way, we all prepared a hilarious story about how I was trying to grind a rail on my skateboard and had, obviously, failed horribly.

Reggie wanted to add that I split my trousers and had cried, but Luca banned that. Thank God. I think they might have felt sorry for me, which I hated, but there was no lie I could have produced to explain how I'd all but crawled my way, burst in spitting out blood and trying to get to the bathroom before I vomited.

None of them were very pleased with me, which surprised no one.

They'd held their tongues for the most part, but I felt them watching me as we waited.

Harry and his friends agreed to meet us at a local steakhouse, but the whole bunch of them were running late. This had worked out in my favor in the end however, as the hospital bracelet surely would have raised a few eyebrows on their part.

"Hippies have no sense of time," Harvey sighed, resting his head on the scuffed wooden table top. "They just show up whenever."

"Like now." Luca smiled as they approached, Gemma peeking shyly at us while Harry fixed his eyes on me with sheer delight. He'd been begging to see me, but I'd made lame excuses that I know had undoubtedly confused him. Vowing I'd make up for that today, I patted the seat beside me and wiggled my eyebrows.

Liam trailed behind them, dejectedly staring at the floor.

"Hey sweet cheeks." Harry kissed my forehead before sitting and adjusting his chair so that our legs could press against each other. "I've missed you."

"It's just been a few days," I said coyly.

"Three too many."

"What's wrong?" Zayn asked Liam, interrupting us. Turning from Harry's pouty lips, I took a good long look at Liam and was rather concerned at the shadows under his eyes.

"Niall is being the world's biggest twat," he said in a broken voice. "He keeps asking the weirdest questions and every time I bring up Christmas dinner, he refuses to speak of it. I don't even think he wants to come but that's a big fucking problem because we always bake the deserts together."

"We must have desserts," Harry agreed. "What kind of holiday would it be without them?"

"I can bake a little," Luca said unexpectedly.

Harvey, Zayn, and I all turned to him and stared, unblinking.

"What?"

"I thought I was the only one who could operate the kitchen," Zayn said, nearly insulted.

"It's common sense." Luca turned away from us and back to Liam. "I'll help the baking. If anything, it will be good to have a referee in case some fighting starts."

"Thanks." Liam's tense shoulders slumped in relief. "I know you've all heard me speak so badly of Niall, but he's not a bad person at all. We've just been having such a hard time that I can't understand how to fix it."

The waitress interrupted us, all smiles and bouncy curls. I tuned her out while she rambled off some of today's specials, instead watching Harry watch her with polite interest. The thing about Harry was that he was a good person. So good that I simultaneously felt like garbage and a million dollars around him, in the way that I needed to be a better person and I knew I couldn't, and that he treated me like I was the most precious thing in his life.

When the waitress turned to me to get my drink order, I was forced to abandon my staring and give her part of my attention.

As our eyes met, her smile grew larger, flashing all of her impossibly white teeth.

"So what can I get for you, handsome?"

Harry stiffened beside me. I had to stifle a bout of laughter.

"Just some water."

She scribbled it down with a nod before turning to Harry. The smile faded.

"For you?"

"Same as my boyfriend," Harry said, a little loudly.

"So….water?"

"Water," he repeated, almost a threat.

"You two are sickening," Zayn laughed when she flounced off, casting dubious looks over her shoulder. "She was just asking what drink he preferred, Harry."

"Yeah. Drink."

Harry sulked until we had ordered the food and it arrived, steaming steaks with chips, on cracked porcelain plates. The waitress had a friend help her carry it all out, a friend tall and curvy in the same ways as herself. To my horror and, ashamedly, amusement, they addressed no one but me when chatting.

"These steaks are just to die for, Hun."

"Oh yeah, totally. You'll love them. In fact, you'll be dying to come back here in no time."

"Of course," I replied coolly. "Harry might enjoy this place so much it becomes a regular date spot for us."

Again, I fought back laughter as Harry sat up straighter, as if saying, "That's right bitches. Date."

The pair backed away reluctantly, lingering until a burly man with a manager name tag barked at them to run pitchers of drinks and they were forced away from us.

"It's the bad boy vibe they're after." Reggie said, reaching out and cutting Gemma's steak for her. Harry, however was staring at me with such intensity that he didn't fly into his usual protective pout.

"What, Hazz?"

"I don't like them."

"Harry, I'm sure they're lovely girls."

"They might be, but they need to back off."

"Eat your steak, babe. Maybe they won't bother us again."

Zayn and Liam chatted, Liam's sad eyes turned bright with laughter as they laughed over some sitcom they'd been watching at Liam, Niall, and Harry's apartment. Though Niall had occasionally watched it with them, his name wasn't brought up.

Harry ate in silence, still pouting a little, but I was flattered by his jealousy. Like he thought I would chose anyone in the world over him, much less two giggling girls with too much lip stick that reeked of hairspray. They might be lovely girls, for all I knew, but that wasn't my business. I didn't intend to make it so.

"Cheer up."

I bumped my knee to Harry's, and he finally smiled.

"I see you after three days and two girls are stalking you like predators. They're watching now, I hope you know."

"Good."

I set down my fork and knife and leaned a little more into him.

"Are they still looking?"

"Yeah." Harry's scowl returned.

"Just checking."

I pulled his head to mine, placing my lips over his in a tender kiss. That was all it was meant to be; one tiny kiss that would send a message, but my body fast became flush with an ache. Three days without Harry had taken its toll, and my body drank him in.

"Get a room!" Reggie threw a crumpled napkin in our direction. Even though it sailed past us, it broke the mood, the mood that really shouldn't have happened in public. Gemma watched us, mouth hanging open like she couldn't believe either of us. Hell, I couldn't believe myself.

Before I could consider telling them to piss off and continue kissing him, my phone began to ring in my pocket. Luca's head whipped around. Reggie leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

"Louis."

Harvey sounded pained.

"Excuse me," I muttered, pushing back my chair and standing.

"Where are you going?"

Luca sounded alarmed, like I was about to do something heinous instead of just answer a phone call.

"To answer it," I told them patiently. "Unless one of you want to do the honors?"

Liam tipped his head at Harry, troubled, but Harry was watching me.

"I'll be back," I said when they, of course, didn't volunteer. I just hoped they would come up with some excuse as to who would be calling when I only had three numbers in my phone and two of them were Harry's and the other Zayn's.

I trudged past the two waitresses and into the men's restroom. Once I assured myself all the stalls were empty, I pressed answer.

"What took you so fucking long to answer the damn phone?"

Already, I could tell that he was intoxicated and very angry.

"I was at dinner with some friends," I explained patiently. "What is it that you need, sir?"

I tried to keep any bitter sarcasm from my voice, but it was hard when the asshole that had landed me in the hospital more times than I could count interrupted me during such a happy moment.

"You can tell me how the sales are doing because when I tried to find out from Zayn, he didn't answer. I'm guessing it's not going well."

When I didn't answer he barked out a laugh.

"You incompetent shits. I'm coming over tonight."

"What?" my voice came out an octave higher. I cleared my throat and pressed on. "No, that's not necessary sir. We just need time for people to realize that poor chap a few months ago was a fluke. And they will, I swear."

"I'll be over around 11."

He hung up, leaving me alone with a blind panic rising in my chest. It couldn't happen. I took the beatings for them, to keep Bumper pacified and to keep his fists away from my friends. They didn't deserve the way he talked to me. Our lives were shit enough without dragging that nightmare that he was straight into our home.

"Fuck."

I slid down, back pressed against the wall, and tried to form an explanation to the lads. What would they say when they knew that my recent sacrifice had been in vain? Would they be mad at me? A tear slipped down my cheek, despite all my best efforts to keep the sobs stuck in the confines of my throat.

One of the first things I'd learned when my mother died was that life was never fair. It did not treat everyone equally, and it trampled over the weak and left them in places so dark they would cut their last ties with little hesitation. But this point had passed too far. I might not have deserved Harry at first, but I deserved at least a day with him where I didn't have to worry relentlessly about Bumper or what poor person I would scam that day into believing that drugs would be the best thing that happened to them.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, I realized I deserved happiness. So maybe, in that right, I deserved Harry. Reggie, Luca, Harvey, and Zayn….they didn't deserve what would transpire when Bumper arrived.

"Lou?"

To my horror, Harry pushed his way into the loo, stepping back in surprise when he saw me huddled on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"I…."

I couldn't even think of a damn lie anymore, so I didn't bother.

"Things aren't going so great, Giraffe," I finished tiredly. I was right there, on the brink of telling him and letting the consequences befall me, but he shut the door behind him and locked it.

"Things are going to be okay," he soothed.

He settled into the floor in front of me, taking my hands and kissing each finger in turn. I, at a loss for words, stared as another tear fell. I hated crying. I hated people seeing me cry.

"I came to check on you. Luca was really worried. I was really worried. Those lovely girls were staring at the bathroom like it was the gateway to Heaven."

"It smells too bad," I sniffled.

"Baby," Harry said, softly, a little scolding. Sometimes I wondered if he knew more than he let on. Then he was kissing me, hands cupping my neck and his eyelashes fluttering closed against my cheeks. A groan escaped me as he shuffled forward, seating himself in my lap. He had a thing for that, I'd come to notice. Not that I minded at all, with the way he would grind on me, but now it felt more than a dirty make out session. Ironic, considering we were in a very dirty loo, but when his lips parted and he slid his tongue into my mouth, I knew we needed to stop.

The hard part was that my mouth refused to do anything but move against his, take him in in the best way that I could.

When he broke free, I collected my breath to protest, but he moved his mouth to my neck.

"Harry…." I gasped when he bit down, not hard enough to skin but hard enough to cause a warm flush to course through me.

Then, his hands moved to touch my sides, and the burning sensation became agonizing. The yell that escaped me frightened both of us, him because it shattered our moment and me because I had always been so adept at hiding my pain, but his large hands had pressed hard against my bruised ribs.

For the first time, his touch stung me, became something temporarily unwanted.

"What happened to you?" Harry demanded. He wasn't talking about now, in the bathroom. He suspected something.

"What do you mean?"

I watched, a little in fear, as he took a deep breath.

"You. Are. Hurt." He leaned towards me, grinding out each word in his teeth. The gentle and soft expression usually gracing his face had turned angry and threatening. Towards me. "And I've been waiting like a good boyfriend for you to explain. Like why your finger is broken or the bruises or maybe, hmm, I don't know, why you're limping. You are _hurt_. And those bruises have been healing for a few days, which I'm thinking is very ironic, seeing as you've put off seeing me until they've nearly healed. Now what they hell happened?"

I couldn't do anything but stare, and, it was so inappropriate, his anger was kind of a turn on.

"What the fuck are you smirking about?" he spat out.

"You are very hot right now Hazz."

"Don't change the subject."

Though he still tried to hold on to his anger, a resigned sigh escaped him as he touched one of the streaks of bruises along my shoulder. Gentler than he'd handled my ribs, now that the wild and intense lust had subsided. His touch was more of a child lingering over a fallen baby bird, realizing that it was doomed but hoping it would magically learn to fly anyway.

He hovered over me, watching, waiting. He didn't have to say it; I knew he wanted me to try stand up on my own, push him off and make a joke about how giant he was. But the pain in my sides had flared. With a look of sadness so deep it pierced me, Harry drug himself off my lap and helped me stand. Then, he held the door for me as we headed back to the others.

"Gemma wanted to go to a movie tonight."

"And I wanted to be kicking Liam's ass at Mario Kart, but we have to deal with the consequences."

Reggie sank into the couch, arms crossed over his chest. Bumper's threat had not sunk in. At least, that's what I told myself. Otherwise, they all would be behaving as I was; sat in the floor while waiting for the inevitable terror. Maybe Zayn had the faintest clue. One look at me and his shoulders tensed.

"We all take the fall, right? It hasn't been our fault but he can't do this to us. It's not right."

"Do what?" Harvey asked, innocent as ever.

"He can hurt us," I said through gritted teeth. "Don't you get that?"

"That's all he can do," Harvey retorted. "He has no right to be mad at us, anyway. It's not our fault that Greg kid took too much!"

Zayn winced.

"And it's not our fault people are wising up and bearing down on the 'say not to drugs' campaign at the school," Harvey swept on.

"It's going to be okay," Luca said, placing a calming hand on my shoulder. I could have cried right then. I hadn't done so much crying in my life. But I was being worn down, losing momentum and slowly sinking to the ground. I needed Luca's wise and calm demeanor.

"Thanks," I whispered. Louder, I added, "Who would ever suspect that you're a car thief?"

Nervous laughter bubbled from all of us, which fast turned to real laughter.

We were all such fucking liars.

The irony of it all was that Luca never stole a car. Reggie grew up in Catholic family and had passed out drunk when his friends decided to tattoo a devil on him, and then he decided to give in and get the outlines fixed and it all shaded in. Harvey had never had a girlfriend but his life had been ruined by the one girl he ever talked about loving. Zayn, with all his vanity and hair products, never once thought himself handsome. And I, despite knowing Harry Styles and loving him, never believed in hope. Not even now.

We sat there, thoughts running along the same line, laughing as we drank in the joke that our lives were miserable but we'd gotten something great; each other.

"What's so funny?"

Our laughter tapered off, and everyone tensed around me. But the utter shock of what I was seeing had rendered me temporarily speechless. No. It couldn't be happening.

Nononono. Go away. Run.

Harry Styles was in my home, hand still lingering over the doorknob.

"Harry," Zayn finally said, standing up and attempting a smile. It came off as a grimace. "We were just…ah…getting ready to job hunt. Bout time to bear down again, ya know?"

"Yeah, that's good. I just came to check on Louis." His eyes cut to me, then away. Shy.

"You have to go," I said hoarsely. I scrambled off the couch and snatched my phone from the table, pressing a random button so the time popped up.

Five minutes past eleven.

"You have to go now," I cried. "Get out!"

Harry stumbled back, stunned by my hostility. I could deal with his hurt feelings later, after he was far, far away from this place. All my nerves had been stretched tight by the thought of Bumper being in the same room as all my friends, but now they were on fire with blind panic. Bumper would take Harry and his wide eyed innocence and break him in all the ways that he could. Harry might be in the same hospital bed as I was, crying out as they set his bones back proper.

"Is it something I did?" Harry asked, after I had shoved him back through the front door. In the not so far-off distance, I heard the roar of a Harley, Bumper's prized motorcycle. There wasn't any time to apologize, to explain in a way that would save his feelings.

"Just get the hell away from us!"

I gave him another shove-a light one, I thought, but before I could even blink he was tipping back. His wind milled for balance, but it was a moot gesture at best. All in the space of a second, he had fallen the short way off the porch and onto the ground. The distance couldn't have hurt that bad, but the pain in his eyes had a magnitude I couldn't even handle.

"Hazza…"

In a way, I could be glad he didn't stand around for my excuses and apologies; by the time his shape disappeared, sprinting, around the street corner, Bumper's pulled up in his Harley. A few of the neighbors poked their heads out. We always could sense danger here, a threat walking into our already dismal surroundings was like being cut open in a shark tank.

"Louis."

Bumper swung off his motorcycle, shaking out his hair and folding his sunglasses away in his jacket pocket. Whether he thought it inconvenient or uncool, he'd never ridden with a helmet. The first time he beat me-really, truly, bone breaking beat me-I prayed in my hospital bed he would crash his damn bike. Drive it straight into a huge truck and his skull would fracture. That his last minutes of life would be the drawn out panic my life was in his proximity. I prayed that all my suffering would be transmuted into his last moments.

But nightmares never die, not even when you wake up. Not even when good things like Harry happen, they still existed.

"Well get your ass in there. It's time we talked. One good talk is all it should take."

I held the door for him. I shouldn't have.

"What the fuck do I look like to you? A beauty queen?"

He shoved me ahead, roughly enough that I tripped over the welcome mat. Harvey found it, salvaged from an evicted neighbor's trash heap a couple years back. Harvey had always been the one who wanted to make our home better, but he was outvoted on how to spend our loose change.

I hoped Bumper didn't focus too much on him.

Inside, everyone scrambled up from their sitting positions and stood awkwardly as he strode in.

"Sir."

Luca dipped his head.

"Can it."

Bumper settled on the couch and kicked his boots up, effectively sweeping off the puzzle Harvey and Luca had been working diligently on. The pieces detached and crumbled away underneath the pressure of his shoes. Right then, when our boss and tormentor strode in to lay in on us, I swear Harvey was more upset about that damn puzzle.

"You boys have been letting me down lately. I can't tolerate this, and I can't have worthless kids on my payroll. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but the deal has always been that I supply you with the best drugs money can get, you sell, and I give you a generous cut. I'm no bleeding heart, but I've always given you lot more than I've given any other's. But when I'm not getting what I deserve, it's not worth keeping useless employees around. You understand, boys?"

No one answered. We were all too shocked. If he cut us off for good, we were entirely fucked. Even working just a few weeks in the normal world had taken a toll on us. We didn't belong there. We never would.

Bumper sighed and scratched at his shoulder absently. I noticed his nails-ragged and chewed-were coated in chipped black nail polish. He'd always looked as though he belonged in a heavy metal band, not as a cold and profession drug dealer.

"One of you has to take the responsibility for this. Understand?"

Again, we remained silent. The other's had now met Bumper, now knew why he was so incredibly terrifying. A cold sneer on his lips, stretched ears, more tattoos than bare skin….he could have been a poster man for what kids should avoid at all cost.

"Boys." He pinched the bridge of his pierced nose. "I hate to repeat myself. One of you takes responsibility. Then I'm cutting you all off and we are going to forget we ever met."

A police siren wailed up in the very distance, setting off a few of the neighbor's pit bulls. Bumper didn't flinch.

"If one of you doesn't speak up, I'll cut your tongues out and-"

"Me," I said. It came out like a strangled sob. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I've been distracting them with some social stuff anyway. Told them I'd take care of the sales and they trusted me."

The lads tensed, all turned in to stare at me, but refused to meet their eyes.

Bumper may not have believed the lie, but he didn't care. As long as he had a penance for his anger, we could make it through the night. Figure things out in the morning, when we were safe.

With careful, deliberate movement, he uncrossed his legs and stood, the puzzle crunching beneath him. I swallowed, anticipating what would come next. Would it hurt more, me still healing? I'd always managed to put about a week and a half in between these situations. Would he finally kill me this time?

As he reared back, fist clenched and aimed for me, I closed my eyes and remembered Harry and I, sitting just outside his childhood bedroom, our laughter sent into the air. The both of us were wrapped in one another while he pointed out connections in the stars.

"Everything paints a bigger picture," he'd say. "Those little stars off in the distance don't know how they're all lining up, that together they make a beautiful image."

"Like a cooking pot?" I teased.

"The Little Dipper," he shot back. "And can you not imagine that, Lou? One little thing, making such a difference to us?"

I kind of could, but I never dwelled on these things like Harry did. It was, honestly, like digging for gold in a sandbox. Not calling myself dumb, but I knew the world had limits and it was an ugly place and I mainly didn't want to find hidden meaning in something that just was.

But I heard his voice, next to my heartbeat, in my ear.

"One little thing, making such a difference…."

Bumper's fist never touched me that night.

When the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor stirred me, I didn't have time to react before Zayn was pulling me out of the house, Harvey at our heels and Reggie in his arms, struggling to go back in and fuck I never knew Harvey was that strong.

"LUCA!" Reggie screamed, again and again. "LET ME GO YOU STUPID FUCK. LUCA!"

Until his voice broke.

Zayn didn't let go of my arm until we were at Liam's, though the path here had been such a blur that it occurred to me I had spent almost an hour of walking/jogging and not seeing anything. Something in my mind had frozen in that one moment where Bumper had moved to-without fail-kill me. Luca. Where was Luca?

Was Bumper still at our house?

I became annoyed when no one answered me, then even further annoyed when I realized that I wasn't asking the questions aloud. My mind has broken.

"Zayn?" Liam opened the door for us, wearing nothing but plaid boxers. He squinted at him, then saw me and his eyes sharpened. "Leave. He fucking pushed Harry down. I don't care about what any of you did in the past but what happened was out of line. None of us are going to-"

"Luca's dead," Zayn interrupted.

My head snapped up, zeroing in on his face. Cue a silly grin, a bad poker face with his lips fighting back a smile. Harvey failing to pick up the joke and protesting. Reggie picking up the joke and messing with his head. It should have happened. I waited for it.

No one said anything.

"He's not dead," I said, trying to take on Harvey's role. "You're wrong."

Zayn spared a pity filled glance at me before turning to Liam.

"Look, we have a lot of explaining to do. A lot. But Harry showed up at a bad time. If he had stayed, it could have been him with Luca."

His voice struggled over his name. I took deep, steadying breaths. In and out. This wasn't happening. Why would it? One of our own friends dying was an irrational concept. Just like me losing my mother or me losing control of a car, which resulted in the deaths of my sisters. Me falling in love with a loser kid still in high school that talked about that stars like they were self-conscious little shits with feelings that made up a beautiful scene.

Bullshit. All of it.

Even worse, it was real bullshit.

"Let us in," Zayn pleaded.

Liam, with a lot less reluctance that I would have expected, stepped back and held the door open for us as we trudged in. Reggie stared blankly ahead, Harvey pushing him along gently. Liam led us to their living room and told us to sit while he made coffee. Niall poked his head in, glaring.

"What the hell are they doing here?"

"Our friend is dead," Zayn explained to him. For once, he wasn't hostile. He didn't have any energy to waste on petty cat fights with Niall. To my immense surprise, the annoyance on Niall's face faded away and he sat on the edge of the vacated recliner.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to be so…Harry was just so upset you know. He usually finds some way to blame himself for these things." We sat in silence for a moment while he contemplated over something. "And I guess now's a good time to tell us the truth before he gets back from Anne's?"

"What truth?" My voice was a dull croak.

Niall's expression changed from the wide-eyed childishness that I had always associated him with. And then, in the calmest voice yet, he said, "I know you and Zayn sold the cocaine to Greg. A few people from the club told me your descriptions, but were too scared to take it to the police because…hell…they've bought from you before. And all of us could put two and two together-two boys show up wanting to sell and we decline and then in about ten hours my brother's dead."

We were all rendered speechless. Niall, who had made even the kindest words sound rude towards us, was confessing he knew we had-in a way-murdered his brother.

"I was pissed, of course. Wanted to go to the police right away, but then Harry started talking about you and I had to tell myself if it hadn't been one of you, it would have been someone. It took a long time, you see, to really let it go."

Niall fixed Zayn with a barely concealed look of contempt.

"I really hated you the both of you, but when I started to get to know both of you, I couldn't feel that way anymore. Which kind of sucked."

He turned to me for a moment, but his attention was all for Zayn.

"But there's a bigger picture now, and what's done is done."

Liam, who had snuck back into the room at some point, put his arms around Niall and drew him in.

"Thank you," he said.

I didn't know what to say. We had seen Niall, so many times since Greg's death. We'd watched him and knew that we had been the ones that had indirectly killed his brother. But knowing that he knew the whole time stung. No wonder he'd looked so nastily at me and Zayn, had fought against Liam and Zayn's friendship. But no…that didn't entirely make sense. He made a few snide comments towards me and Harry but his contempt was mostly for Zayn. Maybe his personal claim to Liam had something to do with it.

"One time we were watching a murder trial on the telly," Niall went on, voice softer than the hum of the microwave in the kitchen. "And the weirdest thing happened. A man stood to address the killer of his daughter. And he said that he forgave him, because that's the only way he would ever be able to live with her gone."

With a swallow of determination, he said, "I forgive you. Both of you."

As if aware at how mushy the moment was going, he turned to me with a very familiar snarl.

"But you lay your hands on Harry again in a violent manner and you will pay."

Reggie sniffled, burying his head in his hands. Our brief respite sunk away.

Luca. Dead.

"How?" I asked Zayn numbly. "That was…it was meant for me."

"He had a knife, Lou. Jesus, and you just stood there with your eyes closed. Luca didn't hesitate. It was over before we could blink."

"The police will be there soon," Reggie said after a few minutes. "I have all the stuff on me. We were going out after…you know. They can search and won't find nuthin'. But cops…in our home. How do we explain?"

"Can't we grieve before we come up with excuses?" Zayn snapped, entirely spent. "Can't we just get some sleep and pretend it's not real?"

"I do it all the time." Reggie closed his eyes and curled into the arm of the couch. "So yeah. Dream the fuck away."

Liam got up wordlessly and slunk into the kitchen to check on the coffee. I didn't have the energy to tell him I didn't like coffee, that I wanted hot tea or at the very least water. But when he placed a steaming mug that literally had Harry's name printed across it, I downed it all.

Around three in the morning, Liam decided that Harry must be staying the night with his mother. I was the last one awake, the only one to hear him whisper to Niall about how Gemma had been throwing up all day and hadn't been able to get out of bed. Had Reggie known? Surely he did. They talked frequently. He didn't have a cell phone, but he always called her from the phone booth down the street.

"You can sleep in Harry's room," Niall whispered to me around four, and he led the way even though I could have gotten there on my own, zombie like state be damned.

Before he turned to leave, I grabbed his arm.

"I'm sorry. So incredibly sorry. We had no idea…if we don't sell everything, stuff like this happens."

"You can't shove your misery onto other people," Niall replied, not unkindly. I deserved unkind.

"That wasn't our intention. He was so desperate, and so were we. We benefited each other, so we didn't stop to see the faults in the situation. But when we heard on the news…it ate away at us. We never meant to…."

"Why do you do it?" Niall asked, gently prying my fingers from his arm, as if I were an insistent child pestering him.

"Do what? I don't do anything anymore."

"You sold drugs. When other job opportunities were there-and dammit all you even had them for a time! Why did you go back to it? Don't you see how poisonous it is? Literally and figuratively."

I couldn't even be mad at those repetitive questions, the ones we asked ourselves and had been asked over and over. I told him what I'd told everyone, bringing back the lame fish analogy.

"Why don't you breathe underwater?"

"What?"

"Why don't you breathe underwater?" I repeated. I leaned against the doorframe. More like sagged. My body felt heavy and sore with grief.

"Because I can't? I'm not a damn fish."

"And I'm not a damn bird. I can't fly. Heaven's close to the sun and Hell is under the ocean. I'm swimming, mate. And I don't know how to do anything else. Understand?"

"Not entirely," Niall said stubbornly. It was weird enough to be talking like that to him, but now I had to play confessions with him?

"I sell-sold-because I have been trying to prove something my whole life."

"What?" Niall asked, like he was playing along with a game.

"That I didn't get my sisters killed for nothing. I promised them the world, and I worked and sold to give that to them. I had so much money-more than me or my mum ever had. We were going to the mall, and I was going to take their hands and make them hold onto me, like it was just another trip. But then I was going to tell them to run. To go pick out whatever they wanted and they could have it. I would buy it for them because I could. And the one thing that I had finally done right would be for them. All the teachers that told me I would amount to nothing could suck my dick because I could give my sister's a Christmas. I promised them I would have money, that I would never let them go hungry again and that we'd all be okay."

Niall blinked, waiting.

"We never made it to the mall," I finished.

When I pulled the covers over me, Niall still hovered in the doorway, mouth open in shock.

"Were things okay…after?"

I didn't answer him. I buried myself in the covers that smelled of Harry. Despite my best efforts, my mind refused to conjure a happy image of him, instead opting to bring up the image of him falling from the porch, expression hurt. There were so many things that made me think I didn't deserve Harry, but now I finally had something that confirmed it. Niall vanished, and I tried to avoid thinking of Luca. My mind fought against me, demanding. How fast did he go? Did Bumper even give any move to chase after us? Most importantly, what now? We'd lost a family member, and for what?

Sometime right after the sun rose, I fell asleep.

"Baby."

Harry's soft voice tugs me away from the flashes of nightmares I was having. There was a painstaking moment where I'm scared that it's just a dream, that he hasn't forgiven me. Then I open my eyes and find him hovering over me, eyes hooded and soft.

"Hey Giraffe."

"You idiot. What were you thinking?"

I could tell he'd already worked himself up, went over the questions he had to know the answer for.

"Not what I wanted to wake up to," I replied, but I couldn't get a proper tone of anger in my state. I just wanted him to crawl into bed with me and tuck me into his chest and let me sleep there, pressed against his heartbeat.

"I know…but why didn't you tell me you were still selling? It's a serious problem. An addiction. I thought you'd changed after that night. And Greg…fuck Louis do you know how long we grieved for him?"

I couldn't stand the disappointment in his voice. I'd rather him yell and curse at me. Disappointment implied that he was resigned to concept that couldn't be changed.

"We never meant for it to end up like that, Hazz. I swear. But he was so desperate, and we needed to sell fast. We were both selfish and scared and I can spend the rest of my life trying to apologize if you let me."

He pulled the covers up around me, tucking me in like a child. His whole face radiated a certain tenderness that had me melting. I wasn't forgiven, but it was a start.

"No more selling."

"No more," I agreed, even though the words cut against my tongue like a razor blade. "I can't break away from it all as fast as I know you'd like me to, but I'm going to work on it, I swear."

"Good." Sweeping the hair away from my forehead, he went on in a resigned voice, "Because you're probably going to be with me long enough for me to watch the progress. They condemned your house."

"They what?"

I struggled up onto my elbows, scanning his face for any signs of joking. There were none.

"It was falling apart, Lou. Five of you were cramped in a one bedroom apartment with shit plumbing and faulty electricity. Zayn convinced the police that you were all away when Luca…but anyway, they aren't stupid. They know that neighborhood and they know that something drug related was involved. So they told Zayn you'd have to find a new place to stay."

"That's our home," I croaked. Shitty state be dammed, it was ours.

"The police said you were two months behind on rent." Harry looked away, towards the door. "I guess we figured out why. I thought you were skinnier recently."

"I'm not," I protested feebly, even though my accursed stomach had shrunk until my ribs jutted out over it. "I'm as handsome as ever."

"Of course you are."

With a light shove, he pushed me back against the mattress and tucked me back in, securer this time.

"Are you hungry? Don't say no just because you're tired."

"That's not why I was going to say no," I mumbled.

"Every single one of you has declined the food offer, even Reggie. You know, you can't save it all for Christmas."

"Christmas?" I had just been dozing off to the deep lull of his voice when a shock of pain coursed through me. Christmas was ten days away. Nine days away from the anniversary of my sisters' deaths.

"Yes, boo. Christmas." He frowned, confused by the panic in my voice. "And don't get me a damn thing. Just say you'll move in? Just for now?"

"Not enough room for all of us," I protested, half-heartedly.

"Reggie and Harvey are going to stay with Mum, which Gemma is super excited about. She really likes Regg, you know. Can't see why, but as long as she's happy….and you and Zayn will stay here."

He nodded, pleased with himself for making a half-decent arrangement.

"How is Gemma?" I asked quietly, like saying her name too loudly might curse it.

The light faded from his eyes.

"Not well. Her body started rejecting the chemotherapy, so there's a lot of puking and she can't get herself down the stairs. She's staying on the couch for now. Maybe being around Reggie will brighten her a bit."

Before I could offer any condolences, he stood and left the room, shutting the door halfway behind him. For a moment, I feared I had offended him in some way, or had failed him by being behind on the Gemma's health status or something. I really should have known, considering how much Gemma had come to mean to me, how she had encouraged mine and Harry's relationship from the get-go, but Harry hadn't been volunteering any information and I hadn't been too keen to dig for it.

To my relief, he returned a moment later with breakfast tray, laden with fruit and pancakes and a side of bacon. The smell wafted to me, electing a mouthwatering response. I didn't even know what time it was, or if breakfast was appropriate, but I could not have cared less. No, I hadn't been hungry before. But now I was ravenous.

Harry snuggled in beside me and channel surfed on the flat screen television across from the bed, perched on the dresser.

Despite their classy flat and new furniture and electronics, their place was, unmistakably, the home of three hippies. Flowers were everywhere, some hung from the ceiling Anne style and others tucked into vases. Fruit spilled over in ceramic bowls on every available surface, but it depleted so fast that often you could catch Niall wandering in circles trying to find a bowl with his favorite fruit (grapes) remaining. Incense had been lit on every flat surface, smelling of oceans and summer fields and even newly cut grass. Their walls were painted soothing colors of blues and greens, and gardening magazines sat about everywhere. Liam had once confessed to me that he desperately wanted a garden, but he'd never owned a place that allowed for it. The best he had were the plants hanging from the ceiling, and the windowsill pots.

In Harry's room, the flat screen was the only thing that had a modern vibe to it. His headboard had been painted to resemble a rolling field with distant mountains. Little hand painted flowers dotted the scenery, each color pastel and shimmering as if it had been painted over with glitter.

Gemma had done it, just before they found out about her cancer.

His walls had posters only slightly less yellowed than the ones in his room: the Beatles, Nirvana, Coldplay, Elvis, and a few that I couldn't recognize. Posters that promoted a healthy lifestyle and yoga were nestled near the corners and pressed into the gaps near the window. His curtains were-seriously-tie-dyed.

All the colors and music promotion and the clutter of books on yoga and 'soup for the soul' stacked near the telly were all pieces of Harry's life. I loved his room, and then, a flare of hope surfaced. Feeble, but rising above the storm Luca and Bumper had left.

This was now my home, too. Temporarily, maybe.

But home.

I hoped they had sent Luca home.

"To the left! That's right, you twat! Oh what the bloody hell!"

"You try it. Go on!"

Zayn flung himself off the ladder and shoved the Christmas tree topper in Niall's hands. He then stormed into the kitchen where Liam had started baking cookies. Five days until Christmas. Four until the worse night of my life.

Luca's uncle had come and claimed his body, which was funny because we had no idea that he had any family left that knew he was out of jail. However, his uncle must have known something real about that day, because when he came and collected the scant possessions Luca didn't care for, he asked, "Those kids. Ever hear from them?"

"No," I had replied. Ungrateful shits.

His uncle, a wide man with a thick tangle of a beard, sighed so deeply it moved the entirety of his body.

"Luca always was a bleeding heart, right from the time he had candy to give away to other kids. Don't know why he ended up where he did, but what's done is done."

I felt the need to apologize for something. For allowing Luca to take my spot, maybe. But I couldn't find the words. I was still trying to make sense of that moment, where I swear Bumper only meant to hit me, but then I was being pushed out the front door. Somewhere in that blank space Luca's life had ended. Bumper's knife had sunk just over his heart, I'd heard.

Because his uncle insisted on taking him back north, we had no funeral for him. Reggie took it to heart, and if it weren't for Gemma's sudden kick of energy, he would have been hidden away in Harry's old bedroom.

Christmas brought out the best and worst and us. While Harry wrapped up the last of his yoga sessions for the year, I was at home flipping through the paper and trying to find a side job, possibly to earn more money for Christmas. I would have liked to give everyone gifts this year, but mainly for Liam, Niall, and Harry for taking us in. Especially Harry, though. For still staying by my side despite a three month lie. I was terrified, waking up a few days ago, that Harry was only being sympathetic because I had just lost one of my best friends and he didn't want to be too harsh.

Thankfully, he remained bright and loving as ever, reading me his favorite bedtime stories that he still had tucked under his Yoga Lyfe magazines. Mum never read bedtime stories like that for me, out of lack of time more than lack of care.

"So you've never heard a story?" Harry demanded incredulously.

"One!" I said defensively. "And it was the best one yet. I wouldn't call it a children's story, though."

"Then what was it?"

I hesitated.

"A poem. A suicide note. I don't know, Hazza. It was something that meant a lot to someone."

"Can I read it?" he asked, timid. He'd obviously read into how passionate I happened to be about it.

"There's only one copy of it," I explained, and then I had changed the subject.

I might read it to him one day, but it was a story that warned against love, that had a bitter and somber tone in every line. It wasn't the best thing for him at the time, with a cancer ridden sister to worry about.

Anyway, we were all a little on edge trying to get the tree up and everyone (that could afford them) were busy sneaking presents in brown paper bags. Truthfully, we should have put the tree up the day after we all arrived, but none of us were in the mood. Then, the next day the shopping had begun. Because Anne and Gemma celebrated Christmas here, they brought their presents over and a small pile formed around an invisible tree.

You'd think the stress would ease up now that the tree was up and half-assed decorated, but Zayn had been upset all morning.

I followed him in the kitchen after the tree topping argument with Niall, hoping to defuse any tension. For fuck's sake, Niall had just forgiven us for something he never should have and sort of started warming up to us. Now was not the time for petty arguments.

In the kitchen, Zayn and Liam were huddled against the stove, laughing and licking at the left over cake batter in the mixing bowl. No trace of the guy who'd stormed out. I prepared to turn and leave them to their own devices when something stopped me.

Liam lifted his finger from the bowl, spinning a generous amount of the yellow batter on his finger. He held it out to Zayn, inviting him to try it even though Zayn had his own damn fingers and had been using them a second prior.

I expected Zayn to laugh at the gesture, but instead he dipped his head and sucked the batter off Liam's finger, lips twisted into a shy smile.

The moment, already intimate, and odd, enough, grew worse when Liam's eyes turned Zayn's. Not ever in the months of my knowing him had he looked at anyone like that. Not me, not Harry, and most definitely not Niall. His eyes were hooked on Zayn's face as if he were intending to memorize every highlight of his skin, every hair and every way his eyelashes fluttered.

Liam looked at Zayn like he loved him.

I backed away, into the living room, and sat beside Reggie on the couch, my body feeling too heavy. We watched Niall struggle with the giant star topper for several minutes before he managed to twist it on properly. With a shout of triumph, he hopped down from the ladder and rushed into the kitchen. I sucked in my breath, praying he didn't walk in on any scene similar to the one I had just witnessed. After a few moments, Zayn emerged, hands in the pockets of his oversized sweatpants and a scowl on his face.

Over the months, I knew Zayn and Niall had a rocky at best friendship. Even now, after Niall had forgiven us. And I think we all knew that Zayn and Liam had grown especially close, but none of us would have guessed to this extent. Had they done anything intimate together? Liam didn't seem to be the cheating type, but how much did my opinion count for?

Yes, I know we had spoken and shared a common factor in our lives-Harry-but I didn't know Liam like Niall, or Zayn, did. I didn't know how he preferred his coffee or what his favorite movies were or what his opinions on so many things were. Out of everything that made up Liam, I didn't yet know of anything that indicated Liam had enough disloyalty to have any involvement with Zayn behind Niall's back. But what did it matter? Something had to be going on.

I peered at Zayn from the corner of my eyes, wondering how I didn't notice certain things before. Like how he kept turning around to stare towards the kitchen or how his scowl deepened when he heard Niall's laughter.

"You lads have any shopping money?" Reggie asked, standing and stretching. "I don't want to wait around for Harry and Harvey to get back from the pizza place."

"Speak for yourself." Zayn turned to the kitchen again, expression souring. How the fuck could I not see any of this before? Zayn was jealous, of a man whose brother we had sort of killed. Niall must have suspected something, otherwise he would have been equally an ass to me and Zayn this whole time.

"Yeah I have money," I offered. "Not much at all. Seriously. It's leftover from…" I cleared my throat.

Reggie looked to the ground.

"Same here. But we might as well put it to decent use until we can earn honest money."

His mouth twisted around the word 'honest' as if it were a foreign adjective he didn't know how to use properly in a sentence.

"Yeah, let's go," Zayn said, once the giggles in the kitchen turned into a low argument. Niall had been yelling a lot lately, maybe because there were two more people in their only modest sized flat and one of them was constantly flirting with his boyfriend. And sucking cake batter from his fingers. I shuddered at the image.

We took Harry's car, since Harry had taken off in Liam's. Cars were another thing we'd have to get used to. Liam and Harry, the most passionate in this save-the-drug-dealers escapade, insisted we were all sticks and glass bones, that we were too sickly to walk all the way into town and back to their house. It was just about a two hour walk, but I guess their time concept wasn't the same.

It still felt weird to have keys jingling in my hand.

On the way over to the mall, Zayn slumped against the backseat window, pouting. Halfway there, I couldn't take it anymore. It had been less than an hour since I realized my best friend had fallen in love with someone (and I felt like shit for just now seeing it) and it was eating away at me. How had it happened? When?

"Zayn?" I began.

"Hm?"

"Why do you hate Niall?"

"I don't hate Niall," he said in bored, rehearsed sort of voice. It had all the enthusiasm of a 'yes I'll get rid of the hair products that clog up the bathroom sink space'.

"Maybe you don't," I conceded. "But there's something wrong. Tell me? Us?" I amended when Reggie raised an eyebrow at me.

"I think we deserve to know what's going on," Reggie added, flipping down the rearview mirror and fiddling with his nose ring. It had been infected, to the utter disgust of Niall. The hippies weren't all that familiar on piercings. I can't count how many times Harry stared when I took out my lip rings, or my eyebrow ring.

"That doesn't hurt?" he asked, every single time, like I might have been lying before but I was finally ready to be honest and tell him it was agonizing.

"It doesn't hurt at all," I said, every time.

Zayn shifted so that we could see him clearer in the rearview mirror better. A look of disgust had settled onto his face.

"I know Niall. Not directly, and he doesn't know I know him. But I've seen him in places he shouldn't be. Especially recently."

"What?" I asked, baffled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

That hadn't been the answer I was expecting at all. I couldn't imagine a place Niall shouldn't be. He was the only hippie around that hadn't sworn to be a vegetarian, so I couldn't even make a snarky comment about him being at Burger King or some shit.

"Niall's….I don't know how often he…."

Zayn tugged a hand through his hair, frustrated at how his words were coming out. Reggie and I waited patiently, stealing an apprehensive glance at one another.

"You know I went to the corners downtown a lot…and to the dock? For, erm, entertainment purposes?"

"Yeah, and you haven't since you met Liam because you've got a hard on for him. Moving on," Reggie dead panned. He flipped the mirror back up and waited patiently for Zayn to go on. We were both completely taken off guard by his confession.

"Niall works there."

My actions were purely reflexive. I slammed on the breaks, causing the car riding my ass to swerve and lay on its horn. I flipped them off as they passed by, horn still blaring.

"Repeat that," I said, once they'd veered back into the correct lane and zoomed away.

"Niall has worked there before. He must not have recognized me. He was always kind of…occupied."

Zayn's face reddened, partly from embarrassment and partly from anger.

"He's cheating on Liam. And neither Harry nor Liam has a damn clue. My question is why the hell is he doing it? They all have decent jobs. Niall gets great tips at the restaurant and Liam makes decent at the cinema. What the actual hell is he thinking?"

"I don't know," I said, aiming for a soothing tone. It wasn't my strongest suit. I eased off the break and resumed the route to the mall, hoping that Zayn would cool off. A distraction was needed.

"Are you going to get Liam something?" I asked conversationally.

"A Bug's Life, collector's edition," he said quickly. "A book on gardening and a subscription to a magazine about it. And maybe some fake flowers for those stupid flower crowns they were."

"They're cute," I said, automatically defending Harry and his endearing sense of fashion.

"Yeah, kind of," Zayn replied, probably thinking of the few times time Liam wore one. He didn't have much hair, especially when we first met him, but it had started growing out in a tangle of wild curls reminiscent of Harry's own.

"What's the deal with those, anyway?"

"I'll ask one day," I offered. "But I haven't questioned it yet. Say, what are you getting for Gemma?"

"A book of poetry. I special ordered it. It's a clash of all our favorites," he said, boastfully. It was nice to return to moments like this, with all of us together and not thinking too much about Luca. His death had not taken a backseat to any of our fun. Rather, we had to closet away his loss because the pain would have been astute enough to affect the things that had to done and taken care of at the time. We did think about him-constantly. But we couldn't afford to let the grief cripple us.

"That's sweet. I'm getting Harry a ring."

I might have just announced I was going to start taking stripping classes where I would promptly change my name to Louise. Wait, no. Not glamorous enough. Lucinda.

"A…ring ring?" Zayn asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No, just one ring," I said, attempting to joke. Their expressions were kind of frightening me.

"That serious?" Reggie asked, folding his hands in his lap. I felt like I was about to be interrogated.

"Yeah. But I actually needed you, Regg. I wanted to make him a hat. So I wondered if you could teach me how to knit."

Reggie stared at me, mouth agape.

"Look, I'll buy my own needles and yarn. I just want to learn to make a simple black hat and…WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME YOU PRICK?"

"After all these years," Reggie managed, choking on gales of laughter. "After all these damn years of teasing me for knitting….and now you want me to teach you? Oh my God. This is…"

He cracked up, doubling over and resting his head against the dashboard. In the backseat, Zayn bit his lip to keep from cracking up himself. God, I shouldn't have said anything at all. What had I been thinking?

After a moment of respite, I squared my shoulders. I had been thinking about how adorable Harry looked in beanies, how much I wanted to work and repay him with something honest.

"Just teach me," I griped. "I'll owe you."

"I didn't know you were a fan."

"I am. I wanted to a whole website depicting my love for your work but then I remembered we had no internet."

"You? Knitting?"

He scoffed, and my patience snapped.

"Fine. I'll just buy him a damn hat."

"Oh, Loulou," he cooed, grabbing my chin and shaking my head back and forth. "Don't be a baby. I'll show you. Better start soon, or he'll only get a bundle of yarn for a gift. Oh, and the ring ring."

"Is it too soon for the ring?" I asked, annoyance fading into anxiety. Harry and I never talked much about past relationships. We were so satisfied with our lives now, why go back and talk about things that didn't matter anymore?

At the start of our relationship, I had convinced myself that Harry and I might be having fun, but we could never work due to my background. Now, however, I lived with him. The drugs were being slowly erased from my life, leaving late nights with Harry and a dinner table where my friends sat and laughed. Could things really be this easy?

"Do you feel like it's too soon?" Zayn asked, scanning for a parking spot. The crowd was ridiculous, swarming around their cars and darting into the road, laden with bags.

"I don't think so. I want to ensure I get to keep him, ya know? Trap him before he realizes what a mistake I was. Kidding," I added when they both sat in silence.

"Why do you do that?" Zayn asked.

"Do what?"

"Down yourself. We aren't complete fuck ups, Louis. We made some mistakes, had some shit lives, but we're okay now. We've got it good, so can't we enjoy it? Please?"

"You're right," I agreed hastily. I swung into the first and only parking spot I saw, and we walked in silence the whole way in.

I woke up on Christmas Eve with the same sense of forbidding I had four years ago. Four years today. Beside me, Harry snored lightly, oblivious to the guilt sinking in. I still woke up on this day, praying it had all been a dream and Fizzy would come running in any second, reminding me that today was the day I had promised to take them to the mall. Like I could have forgotten.

My first drug purchase had been from a man who'd actually been a friend of Bumper's. My first sell had been a generous amount of hash to a thirty year old man with hair longer than any of my sisters'. I'd been made of nerves and a pounding heart, thinking he might ust punch me and take the drugs. Or shoot me. I couldn't believe how smoothly things went, how easy it was to get money just by handing over a bag.

Afterwards, I had cash, real money in my wallet.

I had loaded the girls into the van, laughing and tickling Daisy's feet. Lottie sat up front with me, bouncing up and down while Fizzy leaned forward to chat with her about maybe getting some hair ribbons. I wanted to tell them they could have way more than that, but that was a surprise.

"Put your seatbelts on," I told them, starting the car.

"Oh, all right!" Fizzy groaned. She disappeared into the back, but I never really paid attention to what happened next. Not that I didn't care, but it was that I was so eager to get to the big surprise.

That had been the problem. I had been so focused of providing them I forgot to take care of them the way I should have.

I did remember though, Lottie's last words. Quiet against the windshield wiper's frantic squeaking. The snow fell thicker and thicker.

"Happy birthday, Lou. And thank you."

Carefully, I slid out of bed and picked at the scattered clothes on the floor. My hat, Harry's scarf, and the jacket that Harry had stolen from me were enough to keep me warm over my pajamas. I never drove when I visited them. At first because it felt like a cruel joke, then because I didn't have a car, and now because it still felt like a sick joke that I would drive safely to see them but I couldn't even get the most precious people in my life to the mall safely.

Walking it was.

When I arrived, the sun just began to break the horizon, spilling orange light into the dusting of snow. A few families I had known last year lingered in the distance.

The girl who lost her mother to cancer, who brought pink roses and used a healthy amount of lilac perfume. A young couple whose baby had been stillborn hovered over a tiny grave not too far off. A man who'd lost his son in the war. I joined them; the boy who'd killed his sisters.

I pulled my bag off my shoulder and sat down, facing their headstones like facing a firing squad. This was always the hardest part; making up for something that had never happened.

"I hope it's beautiful, wherever you guys are," I whispered.

I pulled out their gifts. Stuffed animals, Barbie dolls, hair bows, and fresh sets of flowers. If they saw the gifts, they might not even like them anymore. But I had to do something, had to take a guess. After all, I planned on letting them loose and picking out whatever they wanted.

I lit a candle and set it in the middle of Phoebe and Fizzy's graves, and something about the tiny flame flickering in the gray cold soothed me. With any luck, no one would wake up back home and I could have a few hours with them.

I curled up, right there in the snow. The cold didn't bother me. Nothing could bother me worse than the fact that I was here at all, staring at the place where all my mistakes huddled together. Luca would have a headstone in a few months. I needed to go see him, to thank him.

Sometime after the young couple moved off and the military father started drinking, I heard a car door slam in the distant. Though I wanted to be alone, I had all but frozen to the ground and wouldn't mind if it was Zayn bringing me a blanket. My face had gone numb, my teeth clacking together obnoxiously. But who would hear?

The father was too busy screaming profanities at the sky.

"Lou?"

It was Harry. Dammit.

Before I could protest, he scooped me up in his arms and was carrying me off. My throat hurt too badly for me to say I missed the cold biting into my skin. Yeah, I was going to be sick.

"I would have gone with you," he whispered in my ear.

I clung to his chest, trying to fight back the hot tears gathering in my eyes. Why had I been such a baby lately? No, since I'd met Harry, since he started tearing up the past.

"But I know why you had to be alone. Now I just need to get you home and baby you. You're so cold…"

He pressed me closer. Any other time, I would have been embarrassed. Big, bad Louis Tomlinson. Former drug dealer, owner of over thirty tattoos, and street fighting champ of 2011. Being carried like a child by his boyfriend out of a cemetery.

On the drive home, Harry blasted the heat and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. There was something he desperately wanted to say, but he was holding it back. It was almost like he didn't know what to do with me, and that made me feel immensely guilty. He shouldn't have to look after me as well as Gemma. But if I had known he would have gone chasing after me, I would have told him to pick me up at a certain time.

"Turn it up?" he asked softly. "I love this song."

I did, numb fingers fumbling with the volume nob until the soothing sound of Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars filled the silence between us.

"Is Zayn mad?" I asked, just before we pulled in the driveway.

"No one is mad at you, babe."

When he got out and moved to my side to carry me in, I was too tired to protest.

"Jesus, you are freezing. I can feel it through my shirt."

Inside, Liam and Zayn were huddled on the couch, sharing a plaid blanket and watching Toy Story. Niall talked on the phone in the kitchen, presumably to Donald. Hopefully he wouldn't be showing tomorrow.

"Get him in the shower," Zayn told Harry without looking up. "He gets sick so easy we'll be lucky if it's just a cold."

Liam laughed, like he was joking, but last year I had been bed ridden for three days, and then I was forced back to selling and sneezing all over the customers.

Perhaps Harry caught onto as much, because his pace quickened as he took me into Liam and Niall's master bedroom. Their bathroom was more luxurious than the main one, so we tended to flock to it when in need of a good shower or soak. Which happened to be all the time.

Harry sat me on the sink, standing between my legs and peering at my face. The sensation was so familiar…had it really been almost five months ago that he'd stumbled into Bart's with his scraped up knees, touching my hips and captivating me before I knew a damn thing about him?

"Don't run away again," Harry said, sounding pained. "I woke up, and we couldn't find you anywhere. Didn't have the faintest clue if I might have run you off for good until Zayn woke up and told us to shut the hell up, that you were visiting your family."

"I don't visit them," I replied harshly. "I visit their graves. There's a difference, you know."

Harry shook his head, not bothering to answer. Instead, he ran the shower until light steam curled to the ceiling. Wordlessly, he stretched his hands out for my clothes. A crippling self-consciousness overtook me. The stress and lack of food had warped my body. Harry deserved someone fit, with wiry muscles and without shadows under their eyes.

"Lou? You're only going to be sicker if you stay in them."

"Turn around."

I stared at the shower curtain so I didn't have to meet his eyes.

"Huh?"

"Turn around, babe. I'm not looking my best lately."

He didn't turn around, or even look away. Instead, he stepped forward and cradled my face.

"Louis, you will always be the most beautiful thing in my life."

His piece said, he pulled the scarf and jacket off and slipped his fingers under the hem of my shirt. The wet material peeled away from me, albeit reluctantly. His hands were so warm that I actually jumped, but he was too distracted to notice. His eyes were skimming over the designs on my chest, lust shadowing his eyes. It hit me then. All our months together had been in the colder seasons, and since he'd admitted to being a virgin I had wiped away most thoughts of trying anything. Not to mention how I never felt that comfortable with my clothes off.

Harry had never seen this much of my skin.

"Hazza, I'm cold," I said, trying not to think to think of the way he looked at me.

"Of course." His voice was husky, sending a new wave of chills over my skin. "Sorry."

As I slid my sweat pants off, he looked away. I was glad.

He bundled the clothes together as I slid into the hot water, almost forgetting that I still had my boxers on.

"Shit," I gasped as the water fell over me. It pierced like tiny knives, digging into my nerves and sending painful stings throughout my whole body. I'd been colder than I thought.

"You okay?"

I heard Harry taking a seat on the floor.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just…it's really hot."

"That's the point. Do you have any idea how cold you were?"

"I couldn't feel it anymore," I admitted.

"Your fingers were turning blue. And you couldn't stop shaking. God, I thought I'd have to just swing by the hospital and be done with it."

"I'm glad you didn't. I hate hospitals."

"You've told me." I could tell he was smiling. "I wouldn't torture you like that. How are you feeling?"

"Better," I said, sniffling a little. Definitely sick.

A few minutes passed as the shower turned pleasing rather than agonizing. When my body adjusted, I reached out to turn the hot water up further.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I nearly jumped. Okay, I'd known Harry was still sitting there, but he'd been so quiet…

"Tell you what?"

An impatient sigh escaped him.

"That today was your birthday. I asked you a few months ago and you blew it off, so I figured I had just missed it or something. I wish I'd known."

"Don't worry about it. I don't really care for it. So what, I was born 21 years ago? I also learned to skateboard 15 years ago on the 28th and that has brought me a lot more happiness than my crappy birthdays. But am I celebrating that? Nah."

Before I could even try to cover my soaked boxers, the curtain yanked back and Harry stepped in, his face annoyed. To say the least. He snapped the curtain back and stepped close to me.

"Your clothes are on," I pointed it feebly.

"When are you going to care about yourself?" he asked fiercely. "Zayn and I had a fine chat about this last week. You treat yourself like shit, you blame all these deaths on yourself, and you won't tell me everything. No, not even anything. I don't even know how they died, Lou! I don't know shit about your mother, and I had no clue that you were still selling all that time. I've been so patient, so content just to spend time with you. But you've got to give me something to let me know I'm not the only one who really cares!"

"You really think you're the only one who cares?"

I couldn't even be angry; I was far too stunned, racking my brain to find an instance where I might have made him doubt anything between us. Besides the Luca incident.

"I don't think that, babe. But I have no idea how serious you are about me because you keep everything bottled up. And it hurts to love someone not interested in letting you love all of them."

He sucked in a breath, waiting for me to say something. Instead, I watched the water sticking his hair to his forehead, the clothes clinging to the lines of his muscles. It took me a moment as I let this words wash over me like the hot water.

"You love me?"

"Out of all I just said…" he closed his eyes and relaxed his clenched fists. "Out of all I've said, that's really all you're going to reply to?"

"Isn't that all that matters?"

"It is if the feelings are returned."

"You know they are," I said, taking one of his hands. I wished he would look at me. "I love you. Please don't be mad. I warned you before that I would eventually end up telling you everything, and I will. I just don't know soon that may be. The reason I didn't tell you today…today is also the day they died. I don't like to remember it like that."

Harry's shoulders slumped as he leaned into me.

"I wish you'd tell me everything soon. I really do. I worry about you all the time, and even now that you live with me I worry. Are you really happy here? Are you missing your old life more than you're enjoying this one?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I said, placing a hand behind his neck and yanking him down to me.

Our lips crashed together, and if we both hadn't been so desperately hungry for each other, I would have said it happened in a painful way. But we were too far into the moment the second it was initiated, me sucking on his bottom lip and his strong hands sweeping down my sides. Fuck, his hands covered almost the entirety of my ribs, his fingers pressing into the spaces between the last ones.

"I'm not," he said, moving to kiss my neck, "ridiculous." He started sucking and kissing in turn, teeth grazing my skin.

"You are," I breathed, tossing my head back against the wall. "Ridiculous, stupid, flower bastar….oh!"

My words turned into a sharp squeak as his hands moved around to my butt, his fingernails sharp through the sodden material. There wasn't much point in hiding how completely turned on I was, because I had never been handled this way and I had never been so turned on in my life.

Peaceful Harry Styles was mauling me in the shower like a horny animal and I couldn't fathom protesting in the slightest.

He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, pressing himself into me and groaning against my skin. I wrapped my legs around his soaked body, relishing in the way that we slid against one another, how his tongue felt running down my body. Before I could even process everything, he'd set me back on the floor and delved his hands into my boxers.

"Happy birthday," he said, breathing heavily. And then innocent, virgin Harry Styles pulled down my last bit of clothing and sealed his lips around my dick.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

The morning of Christmas, Liam woke everyone up in the most obnoxious way possible; by jumping on them. This garnered a few very different reactions. Niall screamed and bolted for the bathroom door, where he locked himself inside and didn't come out for a while. Harry shoved him off of us and onto the floor. After, he snuggled back up to me with a contended sigh. I still felt a hot flush every time I stared at his lips. Who knew he could do all those tricks with his tongue?

"It's Christmas!" Liam whined. "None of you are any fun!"

When he pounced on Zayn, Zayn squealed and a wrestling match ensued. Harry mercifully got up and shut the door so that we didn't have to watch them writhing together on the couch. Hopefully Niall would stay in the bathroom for a little longer.

"Shouldn't we get up and open presents?" I asked as he crawled back into bed and whipped the covers over us. "Get in the spirit?"

"You're sick, Boo. You aren't getting up until I'm awake enough to make you a warm spot on the couch." He kissed my nose, and I felt like a child. "With tea. And cookies."

"You spoil me."

"Wait until you see your gift," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," he sing-songed. "I was kidding. I'm actually dreading presents."

"Why? Isn't that the best part?"

"No." Although I'd thought it impossible, he managed to pull me even closer. My fevered skin, so hypersensitive, flushed with shivers at the feel of him.

"This is," he concluded, kissing the top of my head. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world."

If anyone else had said something that silly to me, I would have laughed and found a way to make a joke of it. But I wanted Harry to mean it, and the small, disbelieving piece of me realized he did. The fact that Harry Styles loved me could have been enough to get me through everything else, but even better we would have Christmas together. With Gemma, Reggie, Harvey, Liam, Zayn, and Niall. My family had expanded, and Luca would have been proud.

Watching Harry watch me, I became mesmerized as his eyes regarded each of my features more lovingly than the last. His thumb slid over my bottom lip.

"I want to move in," I said. The moment the words escaped me, I couldn't believe I had the nerve.

"You are moved in," Harry replied, pausing. "Are you feeling okay?"

I flinched at the cold of his hand against my forehead.

"No! I mean…permanently."

He stared, unblinking.

"I can help pay for rent once I get a decent job," I swept on. "I can buy my groceries eventually. I swear I'll make it up to you…everything. Say something," I added, when it became apparent he was stunned.

"Lou….you want to jump up and move in with me? Am I hearing correctly?"

"It seems so, as you've just repeated my proposition."

Before I could so much as blink, Harry lunged at me, kissing my chin and working his way up to my forehead.

"Yes, yes, yes. I would love that more than you could possibly….this is the best Christmas present you could have given me."

He drew back and gazed into my eyes with a damn near heartbreaking sincerity.

"I love you. So much."

"And I love you, Hazza. You know that, and I don't want you to forget it."`

"How could I?" Harry's throaty laugh enveloped us.

Liam barged in, Zayn close behind with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Still no Niall, but he would show eventually, and for now everything was perfect.

"I'm getting up!" Harry sighed. "Just let me fix a spot for Lou on the couch, okay?"

"Okay, fine."

Liam crossed his arms and pouted, but followed Harry out to help retrieve the blankets they kept stacked in a cupboard. Once they were gone, Zayn laughed to himself and sprang into bed, taking Harry's spot under the covers. His eyes were warm and wide, the same expression he wore when he drank excessively, but the only thing I smelled on his breath was the sweet scent of peppermints.

He peered over the blankets towards the door before ducking down and wiggling closer to me.

"You sure are happy," I noted.

"I'm going to tell Liam how I feel today," he told me, voice quivering a little. "I don't want to take him from Niall, but I want him to know how I feel. After we open presents, I'm going to ask him to go for a walk, and then I'm just going to tell him. And he's been talking about how him and Niall have been drifting lately, that maybe they should just stay friends. Maybe it's meant to be?"

"Maybe," I said, ignoring the sinking feeling in my gut. Niall wouldn't enjoy his boyfriend being stolen from him, under any circumstances. But I couldn't douse that fire in Zayn's eyes. Let him be happy, and let things work how they should.

"Ready Boo?"

Harry returned, stretching his arms towards me.

"I can walk," I insisted, struggling up.

Zayn rolled away and skipped into the kitchen. Outside, a car door shut. Harvey, Anne, and Reggie had arrived. With Harry's large hand on my back, I stumbled to the couch and fell into a heap of covers. On the nearby table, he'd set out a small plate of Christmas cookies and warm tea. Not for the first time, I wondered how I'd gotten so lucky by finding him.

Reggie walked in, one hand entwined with Gemma's and the other balancing a plate of food.

"Couldn't you just let go?" Harry suggested when he saw them, but even he couldn't be grumpy for long. "Oh never mind. Does Mum need help getting the presents in?"

"I can help!" I tried to find my way out of the tangle that Harry had placed me in, but at my suggestion he tensed.

"No! I mean-I've got them. You just sit here and relax. It's okay."

Bewildered, I fell back. First Niall, and now Harry. Maybe Christmas just made people crazy at the end of the day. He disappeared outside, returning with Harvey, Anne, and a large bit of presents in tow. They definitely could have used my help. I pushed that aside, and focused on Anne's brilliant smile as she hugged each of us in turn, then proceeded to snatch the remote and turn on the Christmas specials.

Everyone migrated to the kitchen to pitch in on the cooking, save for me because when I tried to get up Harry glared. I didn't know whether to think it sweet or annoying, but even if I settled on annoying I doubt I could have held onto any negative feelings towards Harry for long. As their chatter-and Harry singing-in the kitchen blended with Rudolph on the television, Niall came creeping from the bathroom. He said nothing, instead sinking onto the couch beside me and staring blankly.

"You okay, mate?"

A strangled noise escaped his throat. I had no idea what to make of that.

"Could you try that again? This time without…whatever that was?"

Instead of snapping at me, he turned and stared with eyes filled with such panic I leaned back from him.

"Niall, are you okay? Like, seriously? I don't mean figuratively, because we all know you aren't mentally well. But you seem more out of sorts than usual."

A light sigh slipped from between his teeth, and the tension from his body drained as he sagged against the couch.

"I'm about to make a very final decision on my relationship with Liam," he explained, softly enough that no one but me could hear. "And I don't want things to change, okay? He's always meant so much to me, but I need something to be different, you get it?"

"Yeah," I breathed, inwardly relieved. Zayn wouldn't be stealing Niall from Liam after all, and Niall might not be so mad if he gave Liam up. After all, they'd want each other to be happy, right?

"Don't worry, Nialler. I'm sure whatever you do, Liam will always be your best friend, and he won't forget everything that you've been through together. It may be kind of strange at first, but I think you'll both be happy in the end."

A look of mingled relief and joy overcame him, and then he sprang up with a show of his old energy.

"Thank you! Really. I'm going to see how many cookies I can eat before Anne threatens murder."

Though I was left alone on the couch again, I felt immensely better at how wonderfully things were working out with everything, with me and Harry and now Zayn and Liam, and even Reggie had found Gemma. I sat there, enveloped in the clean, crisp scent of Harry's pajamas and blankets, and laughed to myself when Anne began screaming.

"SIX COOKIES? NIALL!"

And Niall replied with smug delight, "It was ten, Anne! TEN!"

A raucous ensued, followed by a few faint protests the sound of a dishtowel that had been wound up whipping through the air. A short cry of pain followed, and then Anne laughed wildly. This family was insane, but now they were mine. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Anne volunteered to pass the presents out, which no one dared open until she had fished the smallest package from the back. Harry settled in near me, stacking the presents on his lap and chuckling as Niall recovered some of his spirit and bounced from his spot in the recliner, his knees bumping Liam who had sat in front of him. Zayn sat nearby but not closer than he'd grown accustomed to. I could tell he was bothered by it, too.

Reggie and Gemma nestled in the opposite corner of the couch, no doubt so that Harry could keep a relatively close eye on them. Harvey and Anne sat in the floor as well, Harvey counting his presents under his breath with a sense of wonder. I understood. Last year, we played poker and Zayn offered to tattoo me. You'd think that might be a nightmare, but Zayn had a steady hand and a great deal of patience. The black feather lining my collar bone turned out to be my second favorite tattoo.

All the same, that had just about been the extent of our gifts towards each other.

Harvey had at least ten presents in his lap.

"We all open them when I say go," Anne announced. Harry, Liam, and Niall exchanged grins, quite clearly used to the routine.

"Ready….set….go!"

I opened Reggie's first, mainly because it was the first Harry handed to me. I shredded the paper, ignoring his chuckles beside me. He, being the perfect bastard, peeled the tape slowly and unwrapped the first of his gifts with as much care that had been put into wrapping it.

Reggie had bought me some girly socks; pink and fuzzy, some with hearts and some with peace signs. Beside me, Harry beamed at the new cross necklace from Niall, which hung on an impossibly long chain. As I watched him pull it over his head, all I could think about how sexy he would look wearing nothing but an unbuttoned shirt and his tight black jeans, the cross dangling over the defined muscles of his stomach.

If yesterday hadn't happened, I would have filed the thought away, maybe to be replayed in private. Now, I wanted to explore the thoughts more thoroughly, and I had an idea of what those things could be like. Harry's eyes met mine, and even though he couldn't have ever guessed my exact thoughts, he winked and ran a hand under the blanket and down my leg. My breath staggered.

"Give me the next present," I demanded, voice strained.

"Sure, Boo. Here's Liam's."

He squeezed my thigh with one hand and handed me the next present with the other. Cheeky git. I worked through the presents with the same excitement as I had the first, tossing the crumpled wrapping paper to the floor while Harry made a neat stack of his. Every piece had not a single tear.

Niall gave me Beats ear buds, which overwhelmed me to the point where I stood and hugged him. He returned the hug eagerly, still clutching the beanie with earflaps Reggie had knitted him.

"Thank you, Nialler. So much."

"Okay, get back in your nest," Harry interrupted.

"He won't get sicker from coming into contact with the air for a few seconds," Liam scoffed.

I hastened back to my spot beside Harry.

Liam gave me a bunch of new shirts, which I deeply appreciated given the fact that I hadn't been able to discern my own clothes from the other lads I lived with for several years now. If I would be living with Harry, I need to start filling his closet with my own stuff instead of stealing his all the time. Not that he protested. Zayn burned some CDs for me, even though no one ever used the stereo in the house.

"You can listen to them in the car," he pointed out when he saw my expression. I blew him a kiss as thanks and accepted the next present. Harvey bought me new rings for the holes in my face, as well as some desperately needed cleaning solution. Reggie gave a book on beginners knitting. Turns out I had a knack for it, and I kind of had fun learning from the master. Gemma squealed when I picked up hers, leaning across Reggie and clapping her hands together.

"That one's actually from Mum and me, so you'd better cherish it!"

Harry's puzzled expression shifted to one of pure terror as I ripped away the brown paper.

"Mum," he whispered. "You didn't."

"WE did!" Gemma corrected, voice smug.

"Oh my…" I snorted, trying to hold back the laughter. Rather unsuccessfully. I doubled over, howling.

"What is it?" Harvey demanded.

"It's….it's….little baby Harry!"

I held up the photograph for the room to see, snickering as Harry wedged his head in the dip of my shoulder. The red tint on his ears made his embarrassment obvious, but I knew he was smiling.

In the picture, Harry was young enough that his hair had only slightly begun to curl. He stood in the tub, head titled to smile over his shoulder at the camera. I would guess age to by six. And, the topping on the cake, he was stark naked.

A chorus of 'Awwws' rose from our gathered friends, but Harry refused to surface.

"Come on, Hazza. Don't you want my gift?"

Everyone returned to their last few gifts, mercifully giving Harry and me a moment of almost privacy. Watching me from the corner of his eyes, he picked up the last two little boxes.

"The larger first."

"Don't tell me what to do, Tommo," he shot back, though he sounded a bit more relaxed, his eyes still focused on the package. Opening mine, he exercised a great deal more of restraint, as if the paper itself went hand in hand with the gifts.

The first he grinned at.

"A beanie?"

"I made it myself," I mumbled. The light of happiness in his eyes made me want to sink into the covers and grin like a child. "Reggie taught me."

Delicately, he turned the black beanie around in his hands, finally grazing over the crooked red heart on the side. It had taken five tries and too many hours, but as he crammed it over his curls I knew it had been worth it.

"It's perfect. I love it."

"Second one," I demanded, pushing away the shyness. "I'll just warn you, it's not what you think so don't freak out!"

"I wouldn't…oh…." He sucked in a breath as his fingers hovered over the lid of a little blue box.

"Not what you think," I repeated. "So breathe."

I did my best to take my own advice and inhale slowly as he pried open the lid and took in the silver ring. For the longest moment, he simply stared into the box with mingled excitement and caution. But I'd warned him, right? A little piece of jewelry couldn't be so bad.

"I erm…had it engraved. On the inside," I added when he squinted at the top of the band.

Nimbly, he plucked it up and held it up to the light, mouth moving around the words.

_**Always in my heart Xx Sincerely, Louis. **_

"Boo," he whispered.

Before my insecurities could wash over me, he crushed me to him, burying his face in my hair.

"I just wanted your yoga fan club to know there was someone…you can wear it however you like. I mean…but if you want to wear it on your ring finger I won't mind. It may be too soon, yeah way too soon, but…."

The soft vibrations of his chest interrupted my rambling. The jerk was laughing at me!

"You are so adorable," he sighed. "Of course I love it. I'll wear it on whichever finger I want that day, if that makes you feel better. But it's perfect. I can't wait for the real thing."

He pulled away, face soft and radiating that type of happiness that made my heart swell. We'd discussed the future, of course, but he'd never said anything so definite. And I liked that, that maybe he wanted exactly what I wanted. There had never been anyone like Harry, and no one would ever match what he gave me or the way he made me feel. And he felt the same.

"Your gift is…" he trailed away, fixing his trouble stare at Niall.

Zayn and Liam were huddled close, talking softly. I knew he'd be asking soon, to go on the walk. From there, everything would change with us, but I just prayed Niall still felt the same as he had just a couple of hours ago. I knew how fast things could change, how being near someone could cloud previous judgment.

"They'll be okay," I reassured Harry. "We just need to let them handle it, right?"

Then, Niall stood and cleared his throat. Confusion flooded me. He didn't mean to break up with Liam in front of everyone, did he?

"Um, so I have some stuff I have to say."

The room fell silent. Gemma muted the television, leaning forward with interest. Did she have any idea what was going on?

"To be more specific, I have a lot to say to Liam, but everyone needs to hear it. Li." He turned to Liam, who was clearly confused as the rest of us.

"I know we've been fighting a lot lately, that you've had to deal with my foul moods and temper, that I haven't been all that fair to two certain people. But now I see how wrong that was. And when we fight, I don't know what to do with myself." He paused, a sly smile spreading over his face. "But the make-up sex is always heavenly."

"NIALL!" Anne cried, her face red as the neighboring ornaments.

Zayn's face had turned stony, but he listened intently, jaw clenched.

"As I was saying. We've been fighting so much that I couldn't even stop and place what we were really fighting about. Petty things, trivial details, and things that could have been fixed or talked through. So I asked myself if that was what I wanted-to always talk things out, I mean. And it is. What I'm getting at is that a couple of weeks ago I'd thought about how we fought like a married couple. Then I decided-"

He sunk to one knee in front of Liam, pulling a velvet box eerily similar to Harry's from his back pocket. Except this was exactly what everyone was thinking.

"-Why the hell not? We have almost always been married, Li. Since fourth grade. Since we first kissed. The fights, moving in together, making these joint decisions….it's just one more tiny step, but I wouldn't want to take it with anyone but you. What do you say?"

I swear Liam's eyes flitted to Zayn with a infinitesimal ounce of sadness, but it didn't last long. Liam cradled Niall's face and kissed him softly.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times over. Now hand over the rock."

Niall grinned for the first time in days, so fully that I could see his back teeth.

The room clapped and cheered, even me after a moment of reluctance. Zayn joined in for a second before dismissing himself to the bathroom. I stood to follow, aching for him. What a misunderstanding! We'd all been so mistaken. Niall had been drifting out of fear, and he'd even confided in me earlier. I'd encouraged it. But Liam could make his own decisions, and Niall as well. I had to respect that; I couldn't afford to lose two very dear friends.

That didn't change how much I hurt for Zayn. He'd been so excited when he spoke to me about telling Liam everything, uncharacteristically so. Now Liam would be marrying someone else.

"Let him be." Harry grasped my arm softly, and I knew from that one touch he'd guessed Zayn's feelings. Maybe sooner than I had. "He just needs time alone for now. Come on, don't you want to see your present?"

I froze. Until then, it hadn't crossed my mind that none of the presents I had opened were from Harry. Taking a steady breath, I told myself I could be happy, that I would spare my empathy for Zayn when I could do something without making a scene.

"Absoultely. Where is it?"

"Outside."

He pulled his jacket over me and tucked my into his side.

"I'm allowed to go out there?" I gasped mockingly. "I might get a fever. Oh wait…"

He rolled his eyes good naturedly.

"Har har. But I can't fucking fit it in the house, so if you want it, you'll have to come outside. As much as I wish I could have brought it right near you. Like by the window."

For some reason, he shot a glare at Gemma.

"I park where I want!" she said in reply to his stare.

"You didn't have to block the view," Harry muttered, tugging me along. "But that's beside the point. Mum, we'll be right back. Don't start The Grinch until we get back!"

"I'll get the dessert out," Gemma offered, using Reggie's knee as support to stand. The moment passed too soon for me to be sure, but I thought her knees shook a little as she stood.

"Come along. If you don't like it, I can't take it back. So please love it?"

"I'm sure I will."

I followed him, watching his thumb glided over his new ring. He'd chosen to wear it on his pointer finger first.

Oddly, once we arrived just outside, he stopped.

"Well….?"

I blinked, staring at him then back towards the road that ran in front of the house. I didn't really see anything but everyone's vehicles in the driveway.

"Oh, right. I'm such an idiot, I swear."

He dug in his pockets for a moment before pulling a key out with a little bow tied on.

"I've already got a key to the house…" I pointed out, puzzled. Then it sunk in. "You bought me a car?"

"A truck," he corrected, watching the ground.

Then I saw it, standing out clear as day. Why I had simply assumed it belonged to someone else, I don't know, but now the battered truck was all I could see. It eclipsed my vision. The model was older, the paint chipped, but he'd bought me a fucking truck.

"You don't like it."

"No…I…."

I'd never had a car or truck of my own. I'd used my aunts that night of the crash, and she didn't let me forget it. She forced me into job after job, until I had four and slept less than two hours a day. My body had no time to do anything but slink through my own grief because I had no respite from it. Not a good sleep for a year. I'd paid her back, with help from a few drug deals. But nothing this big had ever been mine and solely mine. In fact, when Harry told me I could drive his car, I had the nasty reality that I was only borrowing it overshadowing that fact that I was actually driving something.

"It's no Lamborghini, I know," Harry said in a rush. "But it was all the money I had from working. Well, nearly all of it. I still have the stuff setback for bills and gas. But that's irrelevant. I wanted you to feel like you had freedom, that you weren't stuck anywhere. This was a bad idea," he concluded in a rush. "I'm so sorry."

The whole time he spoke, my eyes raked over the truck again and again. Zayn knew. I realized it in a rush. He'd burned all those CDs for me, even though we didn't get to borrow Harry's car that much. But I could blast music all I wanted now. I wouldn't have to carry groceries for miles before I could set them down.

"Lou…?" Harry asked. The strain in his voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"I love it. I fucking love it, Hazza. How are my gifts supposed to compare?" I turned and buried my head in his chest, at first out of affection but secondly because I was freezing. I didn't want to admit it, though, since he'd actually let me come outside.

"Our gifts aren't supposed to compare, babe. They're equal. That's how love works."

Feeling elated, and honestly still thinking of that cross necklace dangling over his body, I titled my head to whisper in his ear.

"Let's see if my blow jobs compare to yours tonight, eh?"

A shiver coursed through him, strong enough I could feel his skin prickling under my palms.

"I hate you," he breathed.

"What happened to love? And equality?" I asked cheekily.

Instead of answering, he pressed me against the side of the house, scanning every inch of me. My fever had been forgotten.

"If you want a competition in this regard, I can play," he said huskily.

"The neighbors might be watching," I protested faintly.

"Who gives a fuck?" Hearing him curse was almost a joke, but I didn't have space in my mind to try for a laugh.

"Not me."

I lifted up on the tips of my toes, straining to kiss him. His lips parted, capturing mine as his warm breath enveloped the minimal space between us. I smiled as his palms flattened over my hip bones, pulling me closer to him. When I tangled my hands in his hair, he let out a low moan that shook my body with lust. He was so incredible, in every single way. He could be cute and childish, adorable and vulnerable, and sexy in his tight clothes. And yesterday in the shower he'd become a sex god. The part I still couldn't comprehend was the fact that he had become mine in almost the literal sense. All those beautiful girls in his yoga class-and hell, even those hot guys-could have caught his eye. But he'd wanted me, with all my flaws and my sucky life.

"You've been smiling this whole kiss," Harry whispered against me.

"It's coz you're so gifted with those lips," I teased. Well, half-teased. "I can't help but to smile that they're mine."

"You get cheesy when you're really happy. That's how I know I've done something right."

He cupped my face in one of his hands, pulling away to stare down at me tenderly.

"Says the master of cheese. Besides, you couldn't ever mess up."

"Not ever?" Sadness flooded his eyes. "Because I know I'm going to do something very soon, Boo. And I might disgust you. To be honest, I've never had anything go so well besides this relationship. I don't trust that you'll always be happy dealing with me."

The casual way he insulted himself hurt. Couldn't he see how incredibly imperfect I felt next to him, how terrible I felt screwing up while he remained a constant force of goodness in my life? He'd never given up on me, and if I were to ask him, I know he'd say he'd never consider it. That was all I asked out of him.

"Just keep doing what you've been doing, Giraffe," I replied lightly. "It's worked for you thus far. Though I do have some suggestions on what you could do to ensure that I am constantly happy."

"Suggestions?" His brow furrowed. He didn't know I was joking.

"Firstly, I demand a swimming pool. Then, I ask that you fan me beside said pool, wearing nothing but a golden speedo."

One of his rare, barking laughs escaped him, the kind he always got self-conscious about even though I loved them so dearly.

"And you have to feed me grapes, of course."

"What are you going to be wearing?" he whispered in my ear. Now it was my turn to be flustered. Harry must have made some decision in regards to our sex life recently; he never behaved like this, but I loved it.

My mind shifted through various dirty things to say, but I never managed to reply. At that moment, a loud scream emitted from inside the house. We both jumped and exchanged apprehensive looks.

"I bet Niall ate the turkey before Mum could get it served. Come on…"

He took my hand and guided me back in, but the moment we stepped inside I realized something serious had happened. Zayn had his phone out, rapidly speaking to what I could only assume was an emergency operator. He reeled off our address and begged the ambulance to hurry.

Everyone else huddled by Gemma, who took ragged breaths and gripped onto Anne's hand. Reggie ran his fingers through her hair again and again, almost frantically.

Harry fell to her side, holding her face in his hands and looking to Anne for explanation.

"She's having a spell…I just…she's…."

Anne shook her head and flinched as Gemma groaned. It could have taken an eternity for help to arrive, but I couldn't pinpoint it exactly. I had only the stiffness in my legs to tell me that I'd been standing, watching Gemma take shallow breaths, for a long while.

Two paramedics in stiff white uniforms strapped her to a gurney and loaded her up, with all of us piling into vehicles to follow. Harry and I climbed into my new truck, him wordlessly handing me the keys and staring out the window during the drive. I took his hand with one of my own, gliding my thumb over our twined fingers, but he didn't react. I might have been holding a doll's hand.

We met up with the others in the emergency room, taking seat in hard plastic chairs. We all stared somewhere, but never at the same place. I watched the receptionists, scribbling away at papers with a routine air about her. She would scribble, then place the paper in a stack and pull out another. I wondered how many years of Uni she attended to sit here and watch people despair. I wondered how many living bodies she'd watched be carried in only to be brought back out to be shipped to the morgue.

I wondered why the hell you would want to do that for a living.

Anne sobbed into Reggie's shoulders, staring at a stain on the floor that may have been blood. Normally Reggie thought situations such as this awkward, but I think he cried a little too. I wanted to ask why everyone was so upset, to tell them it was probably nothing. But then again, Gemma had never been in so much pain, had never needed to have help called.

Harry became restless around noon. He shifted out of his seat and into the floor, and then began pacing the spot in front of the receptionist's desk with his hands clasped behind his back. The receptionist had just enough youth in her to follow his progress with an interested gleam, but Harry never glanced her way.

Around two, he settled in the floor in front of me, leaning against my knees. I took advantage of the position to play with his hair, which I knew he loved. For the next length of time, I let myself become transfixed by the way his silky curls slipped between my fingers. The color of them….the smell of them….I never knew I could love every bit of a person so literally.

My fingertips grazed over a mole on the back of his neck. A shiver coursed through him, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders.

"Hazz," I whispered, but the room had been so silent it felt like a stage-whisper, so clearly meant to be heard.

"Yeah?"

"She'll be okay." Feeling lame, mainly because the words felt foolish in the open air, I added, "Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

"I don't want to eat," he said stiffly.

"Don't be stupid!" Anne barked. She's stopped crying a couple of hours ago, but I suspected she had run out of tears instead of toughened up. "We all need to eat."

"I'll go to McDonald's," Zayn volunteered instantly. "Lou, do you want to come?"

"Yeah," I stood, and Harry grumbled unhappily. "I'll be back before you know it. What does everyone want?"

Most wanted simple combo meals, but Niall wanted several Big Macs and five orders of fries, as well as a latte and a parfait. Zayn scribbled all the orders on a scrap of paper in his wallet, laughing lightly at Niall's request.

"Where does all that food go?"

"I haven't figured that out yet," Niall replied, beaming for the first time since we'd arrived at the hospital. "As soon as I figure that out, I'll tell you first."

Zayn laughed again and followed me out to the truck. I suspected something before the first red light, but had it confirmed by the time we pulled into the drive through. He leaned against the window, tears streaming silently down his face.

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

Wordlessly, he handed me the piece of paper with the orders. I didn't know how to console him, where to begin to express my sorrows that he loved Liam but he had formed a friendship with Niall, or if I should apologize that I'd been there to see him with so many walls down as he curled into the bed beside me and spoke of how much he cared for Liam. And because I had no idea where to begin, I rolled down my window and placed the order.

I didn't think Zayn knew what to say, either, but that didn't spare me any guilt.

Back at the hospital, we ate in silence, only punctured by Niall slurping his drink and smacking on his food. Liam snuck a glance at Zayn a few times, like he could tell that something had changed while we were gone, but the fact remained that his hand had a ring on it now. Zayn ignored him.

Near four in the afternoon, a doctor stepped out and spoke with Anne, attempting to whisper, but it worked out just as well for him as it had for me.

"She's on morphine and is going to be sleeping for a bit. The seizure really drained her body."

"And what's the bad news?" Anne asked hollowly, not bothering to lower her voice.

The doctor shifted his weight from one foot to another, shooting a nervous glance towards the receptionist as if she might help him out. She focused on her scribbling, leaving him alone. I knew he couldn't be that new at his job, but he was definitely young enough to not have done the announcement that often.

"Her organs are beginning to shut down, mam. The body is surrendering to the infection, but she won't be in too much pain. She's going to be sleeping a lot. To be honest, that's probably how she'll go."

Anne slumped to the ground abruptly, as if all the fight had left her body. Harry sprang up and ran to her, accidently spilling his drink on the way. I couldn't move to clean it up. I just watched as the liquid soaked into the specked carpet, trying to wrap my mind around what the doctor was saying. Gemma was dying. Yeah, she's always had that threat of death hanging over her, and we all know that she'd had a relapse. But so soon? I hadn't even stopped to think of what the moment would be like, how we would gather brokenly and listen helplessly.

"How long do we have to say goodbye?" Harry asked, his voice thick and heavy.

"A few days. We've been giving her fluids-she was dehydrated, and her kidney has swollen as a side effect of the chemotherapy. These things just happen rather suddenly, I wish I could explain more, but if we had a better understanding of this I wouldn't have to deliver such bad news. I'm terribly sorry. You are all allowed to go sit with her, of course. For as long as you want."

The doctor rubbed the back of his neck, shooting another desperate glance at the woman behind the desk, who promptly picked up her purse and rummaged inside until she found a pack of gum.

We all stood, following the instructions to the room on the third floor, where Gemma lay asleep on a crisp white bed. Several tubes snaked through the railings, and a distant beeping filled the room. Her face was impossibly pale, like she had been carved from porcelain, her eyelashes painted on with ink, and her lips with a dusting of powder.

Anne choked back another cry and pulled one of the chairs right up to the bed. A wave of utter helplessness engulfed me right then. I couldn't do anything for them right then. Nothing I could do or say could take back the sickness in her, could lessen the pain of losing someone you loved so dearly.

Harvey and Zayn propped themselves in the corner, watching Gemma with the same despair twisting my gut. Liam and Niall huddled by the window, whispering urgently to each other. Reggie stood by me, watching as Anne and Harry grieved for a life not yet lost.

"Regg?" I mumbled.

He gave a little grunt to let me know he was listening, but his eyes were still trained on Gemma.

"Do you still have it?"

"Have what?"

Now he turned his full attention to me, confused.

"Patchwork People," I clarified. "I want him to hear it…."

Reggie heaved a sigh that rolled through his whole body, the kind that made my stomach ache with sympathy. What if it were Harry lying on the bed, lost in a state where he sat in a lit house, but each room slowly began to darken? Each would shut down, and the house would collapse. Would I be able to do anything but cry for him?

"What good will it do anyone?" Reggie asked, though he didn't sound annoyed. "It's a depressing thing, you know. It's exact emphasis is to never fall in love, that everything will become introverted and wrong all you can do is hold onto yourself. Why does he need to hear that now?"

His voice rose a little; Harry glanced over his shoulder, focusing his eyes on me briefly before turning away again.

"Trust me, okay? I wouldn't read it to him unless I had a reason."

"It's back at Anne's. I went back and picked it up after Luca…before the police could take anything. When would you like it?"

My eyes traced the slope of Harry's shoulders, the sharp jut of his shoulder blades against his white shirt. The grief hung in every part of him, weighing his head down.

"As soon as possible," I answered.

I moved to sit on the floor beside Harry's chair, letting my cheek rest against his thigh until I could feel him shaking, one sob after another, and I had to climb into his lap and hold him until he calmed down. The room had cleared save for Anne and Reggie, though I couldn't remember anyone announce that they were leaving. For the longest while, Harry and I just held onto each other, my face buried in his hair and his tears wetting my neck.

Then, he reached out, around me, and took one of Gemma's hands.

Like a reaction from the touch, she awoke. Quite simply as if her seizure had never occurred, that we might bundle up and head back to the house to finish celebrating Christmas.

"Hey guys," she breathed, lips jerking into a smile.

"Baby, how do you feel?"

Anne's free hand touched the side of her daughter's face, as if she needed reassuring that she still had warmth left in her.

"Thirsty….tired…but I couldn't go without saying goodbye, ya know. That'd be rude."

"And rude would be so unlike you," Harry retorted. I admired him so much right then, that there was no trace of him falling apart. He talked to her as he always would.

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, Mum. You've been the best, you know that? And you have been such an amazing mother and I hope that Reggie and Harvey and Harry take the best care of you. Oh, and please take down the dead plants, for God's sake."

"They just need more water and sunshine," Anne protested feebly.

"No, Mum. Jesus. Take the damn plants down or I'll haunt you."

A stuttering cough escaped her, so forceful it racked her whole body. After the fit, she tarried on, forcing the words out in raspy heaves of air.

"Reggie. You…you're amazing. I didn't mean to be so unfair, to ask you to spend so much time with me, and I didn't mean to fall in love you because I knew I wouldn't make it from the start. But you've been a wonderful, patient, and kind boyfriend. Even though I always saved the romantic bullshit for Harry, but I think if I were ever going to marry anyone, it would be you. Speaking of, tell Niall and Liam I wish them the best, okay? And tell Zayn I hope everything works out?"

"Of course," Reggie croaked.

"Now, Harry. You've been a brat of a little brother for as long as I can remember, but you know I've always loved you, and supported you. You can sing, and you could go somewhere with it, if you wanted to. But no matter what you do, you'll make everyone proud. Just don't let things that happened in the past effect very good things in your present."

Her eyes flitted to me, then back to Harry. What was she referring to? Our incident with Niall's brother? Or maybe something else, something Harry hadn't told me yet.

"You just trust your heart, okay?"

"Can do." Harry squeezed her hand, and she finally twisted her head in my direction.

"Take care of him, Louis. Please. He needs you, he needed you before he ever met you. You've been a part of our family right from the beginning, so I can tell you that it's been a pleasure having another brother, and I hope you stay for a long while. Forever, if you can manage that."

"I think I can," I said, without hesitation. I blinked away tears as her smile grew wider, stretching across her pale face, and I swear that, as she studied me, something filled her eyes that I really needed to see.

"Good. I love you all, okay? Never forget that."

We all mumbled 'I love you' in the same muted way. What else could we say, right then? There was too much of everything rolling around my head, how much Harry must be hurting, how much I hurt. How badly I needed to keep my promise to her.

We sat in silence until the moon rose and then dipped behind the parked cars. When the milky light of dawn flooded the room, a gentle sigh fell from Gemma's lips. Anne perked a little, and Reggie slid from his perch on the windowsill.

Though we all expected her to wake up again-the doctor said we had days-her breathing tapered off. Seconds later, the heart monitor flat lined. A dull beep filled our silence, and a nurse arrived, face filled with practiced sympathy.

Just like that, Gemma Styles died.

With no dramatics, with no warning.

The least I could say was that the morphine worked, that when she went she had a lazy smile so similar to Harry's.

When she left this world, I swear she was relieved.

But all the strength in Harry drained as he sagged against me, as his fingers dug into my back. Maybe asking Reggie for the story was a bad idea.

For the first time, I had to ask myself a difficult question.

Could two people so incredibly ruined and broken last?

I'd flipped through the book of poetry that Reggie bought Gemma, even though plays and theatre had always been more of my interest. There was a line that stuck in my head, among the thousands of others.

_You shall love your crooked neighbor, with your crooked heart._

That had been why I knitted the red heart jagged and angled. I hoped that line was right, that broken love was the best kind because then you were on the same level, you could understand so clearly why things like comprehending have a car of your own or having someone not give up on you was so strange.

Now Harry and I were the same.

Our love existed on the same wavelength, and we could understand each other's grief.

Still, I wish we couldn't.


	3. Part 3

**Part III: Losing**

…_._

_But I'll still believe though there's cracks you'll see,_

_When I'm on my knees I'll still believe,_

_And when I've hit the ground, neither lost nor found,_

_If you'll believe in me I'll still believe_

_**-Mumford in Sons, Holland Road**_

"_I couldn't believe how fast she slipped away," I told Mum. "We were watching movies together, teasing her and Reggie, pretending she was still doing fine, and the next time I blinks she's telling us all goodbye. Her disease just felt so….abstract. Unreal. When she left us, things weren't the same, and it felt like losing her twice."_

_I shifted again, trying to find some comfort on the cold ground. The story was only halfway told, and I was already so uncomfortable. Yet I'd told Mum I'd give her the story, so I would._

"_I haven't done such a good job of telling you how much Gemma came to mean to me in those months, but she was like having a sister again, really. Even though we always gave Gemma and Reggie space, I could tell that her death would be leaving a scar on him as well. And I just watched him those days after and thought to myself that we couldn't have anything good for long."_

_The wind kicked up, slicing into my skin and demanding that I draw my coat a little closer to me, hurry the story along._

"_I should have listened to myself. Maybe I wouldn't have been surprised._

We buried Gemma four days after, on December 29th, right as the sun set. Anne picked out the dress for her. The spaces between the gravestones surrounding her own were packed with people that loved her. People from cancer support groups, old teachers, distant cousins, high school friends, and so many others that had, at some point, had a connection with Gemma durable enough that they flocked to the cemetery when they heard of her passing. From my spot at the burial, I watched Harry's face, vigilant for any signs of breaking. When I wasn't watching him, I turned my sights to the headstones in the distant, that of my mother and sisters.

_To you._

There were far too many times I doubted a higher power and far few times I prayed, but right then I hope Gemma walked through some glorious veil between living and dead, and that Fizzy met her, popping her chewing gum. I hoped Phoebe and Daisy took her hands and Fizzy pulled out a bottle of nail polish from one of the pockets on the short jean skirts I wished she had never taken to wearing.

I wished for all these things, but Harry was too delicate to share these things with. So I remained by his side in a dubious silence, waiting for him to reach out. I could see those moments, where his eyes clouded with pain and he became the ocean, receding away from the shore of sanity, his face growing darker the further out he went.

But when I squeezed his hand, he came back a little, the lines by his eyes fading and the waters creeping closer to home.

Reggie watched the proceedings with a heavy sense of defeat. We all hoped that the cancer would sink back into remission, that a miracle might actually befall us, but now we had accepted a looming threat. He hadn't spoken since that moment where her lips lifted and her breathing stopped. I hated that I was better at losing people than he was, that I could keep all my pain pressed in between my bones and hid it away.

After the funeral, when the last formal proceeding of the nightmare ended, Harry and I headed home, staying close together.

Niall and Liam offered to pick up pizza, but maybe they just wanted to be away from the all-consuming nightmare of a week we'd taken. There had been no time to properly celebrate their engagement, no gushing over plans to be made. For now, their permanent bonding became a distant future, until the present wasn't so thick with fog.

Harry didn't have much to say either, turning the radio off while I drove and then heading for the shower without a word one I pulled in the driveway. I did my best to give him space, honestly, but after an hour of listening to the water run, I caved and opened the door. He hadn't bothered locking it, and I could see why. He sat on the edge of the sink, cross legged, still fully dressed in his suit. Right down to the shoes.

"Hazz, come to bed."

His head swiveled to me slowly, a look of dull recognition crossing over him.

"Okay. I'll shower in the morning."

"Yeah, it can wait. Let's just rest now, okay?"

As if in slow motion, he reached down to tug off his shoes. Once satisfied he had been set in motion, I pulled my own clothes off, pulling on a new set of plaid pajamas from Liam and one of Harry's hoodies. The soothing scent of Harry and my new home washed over me, stealing away the cold knot of dread that had settled in my stomach since Christmas night.

While Harry changed, a fine drizzle pattered against our windowpane. Reggie had watched the weather which predicted sunshine, but had warned us it would probably rain eventually even though we would make it through her funeral dry. Maybe he should have been a Meteorologist. Reggie could predict the weather as if he'd spent years studying it. How many times had we been listening to a radio and the weather report came on and he'd simply shaken his head, telling us it was wrong. As many times as he'd been right.

The bathroom door creaked a little, but I kept my focus on the rain sliding down the glass, blurring the flower bushes that pressed just outside. Liam had been granted little spots to plant, he told us. The flat owner thought it might make the property more valuable, but I knew it was nothing like the garden he hoped to have.

At some point while I lost myself in thought, Harry had crept up behind me. I might not have known at first, but once his fingertips grazed my shoulder, every nerve and my body became trained to him like a spotlight. All the fiber of my being acknowledged that he was near, his hot breath on my exposed neck, how his right leg shifted closer, pressing against me.

"You look tired," he murmured, sounding equally so.

"I am. But I didn't want to go to bed without you."

I leaned back into him, regretting wearing his hoodie. There wouldn't be any layers between us if I could have manned up against the cold.

"I'm here now, Boobear. Come on, let's sleep."

He tugged me along, dragging me down to the bed with him. We burrowed under the covers, watching each other until Harry surrendered and his eyes slipped close. What he'd said was true; I could barely think through the haze of exhaustion surrounding me. But Harry had been having nightmares, had been crying in his sleep.

Total hours of sleep I'd since Gemma died? Six.

Tonight? None.

I was still more fortunate than Harry.

Around five in the morning, I slipped away from the circle of his arms to prepare breakfast. I had already decided to try and get him out and about with me today, even if we had to go to peace rally or some shit. Before I could even make it to the kitchen, I stumbled across Zayn. He sat on the couch, hands folded together as he regarded the suitcase at his feet.

"What's up, mate?" I asked.

He didn't jump, and my heart sank as I realized he'd been waiting for me, that he knew I hadn't been sleeping and would be the first to see him.

"Do you ever think," he replied softly, "that everything we ever heard about love has been a lie? Like it's really a fairy tale, but a few childish people insisted they had it, so others played along? So then came a long a few one-hit wonders and romance novels, and everyone says that love is real, but we don't even know because we only have a few ill-conceived notions stemmed from a few people's desperate minds?"

I sucked in a breath of air and closed my eyes. These kinds of talk always pained me, and, skip back five months and I might have agreed with him. But with the love of my life sleeping so close, I couldn't. Instead of arguing, I took a safe route.

"It's a little early in the morning for this. Can't I have my coffee first?"

"Sorry."

The tone of his voice implied anything but, so I sat down beside him, mimicking his pose.

"You can't say you don't love Liam. If you didn't, you wouldn't be about to run away, and you wouldn't have been so devastated but also completely okay with him being married, as long as he was happy."

"This feeling isn't love," he protested. "It's shit. It's worse than anything I've ever felt in my life, Lou. It's like I've been gutted. Like my lungs don't work properly anymore. You'd think it'd be the years of smoking that finally caught up to me, but he's destroyed me. And I do want him and Niall to have the longest, happiest life they can. But I can't be around to watch it. That's the slowest suicide I could have ever picked, and believe me I've considered many options over the years."

At a loss for words, I pressed closer to him, doing my best to convey a sense of comfort while I tried to form an appropriate response.

In the end, all I could ask was, "Where are you going?"

His answer came quick, rehearsed. I hated it.

"William called me. Fuck Lou, don't look at me like that. We all damn well knew we couldn't stay away from that life for long. Bumper cut them off as well and we need to get a new start. Plus, he said he needed someone smart to work with. I don't want to be here, and I don't know where else to go. Working with William will be the closest I can be to dead without shoving funeral costs on you."

I couldn't believe he would actually go to William, that with a few magic words Zayn believed him and would give his life over to a guy we'd competed against, a guy still stuck in the hell we'd finally escaped.

"Don't go with him Zayn. It could be you next. Jesus, we lived that life long enough. We were poor, and desperate, always hungry, Why would you-"

"Save it," Zayn cut me off. "I know it's stupid, that it's wrong. God, it makes me sick. But Anne can't handle any more in her house. Staying here would be the worst kind of torture. Do me the biggest favor in the world Louis. It will be the biggest I ask of you. Please just let me go."

Everything I knew of Zayn told me to let him go, that he could take care of himself. William could be an angry person, but he wouldn't attempt murder like Bumper. He wouldn't scam Zayn out of money. But how much did that count for? Zayn felt desperate enough to go, and nothing I could say would make him stay.

"Stay in touch everyday-" I began, but I was cut off as Zayn threw his arms out, embracing me.

"Thank you. It would have been so hard to leave knowing you were mad at me. Listen….something about everything has changed. For me, that is. I can't entirely place it. But I have a feeling this won't hurt me."

"Right," I said, ignoring the dread churning in my stomach. I had to trust him. "So you'll really be going back to selling?"

"Of course. there's nothing else for us, is there?"

"Don't say that. Not when I'm actually clawing my way out of it."

He pulled away and patted my shoulder with infuriating sympathy.

"You know it's true, Louis. We've never been much good for anything else. But then again-" He let out a deep sigh and my anger melted away. "-if anyone of us were to get out, it would be you."

Calmness smoothed his features as he stood and picked up the handle of the suitcase. Together, we walked to the door, our words spent but the things unsaid heavy between us. Now what? When would I see him again?

Once he'd maneuvered himself outside, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled a slim book out.

"Reggie told me you needed this."

I took it gently in my hands, running my thumbnail over the worn title.

Patchwork People.

"I needed it, too," he went on. "Not as a declaration of how I defied it, though. I needed reminding."

With a little nod, he spun on his heel and headed out, down the street with his phone in hand. William probably waited nearby to pick him up. Ignoring the yawning hole in my heart, I shut the door and plodded to the kitchen to (attempt to) make breakfast. Between the grits and toast cooking, I snuck into mine and Harry's room and hid the book and the dresser drawer that Harry cleared out for me.

When I woke him up with a tray of his favorites, the sleepy expression of love and contentment almost cleared my mind of Zayn. But not quite.

We ate and watched a game show, Harry taking random guesses that were always wrong while I found the heart to tease him. It might have been any other day before Christmas. The ring I bought him captured the sunlight so beautifully, though, and I knew that as painful as it was, we had to accept that Gemma had passed away and that everything that happened during that day and everything after were real.

Long after Harry finished and we had moved on to the next episode of the game show (a marathon, of course), Liam popped his head in through the crack in the door.

"Have you lads seen Zayn? Niall went out for groceries with Harvey and I want to watch Toy Story."

"Are we too good to watch Toy Story with, Lili? 1864!" Harry cried out, just as the host of the game show revealed the correct answer. Harry let out a huff. Not 1864, by the way.

"You aren't as fun, no. Zayn will actually pay attention and listen to my theories. So where is he?"

Something in my face must have given me away; Liam's eyes zeroed in on me with a growing sense of confusion.

"Louis, where is Zayn?"

Even Harry turned, mildly curious.

Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. One. Two.

I could finally put the words in the order they shouldn't have belonged in.

"He's gone. Left with an old buddy of ours. They'll probably head over to the states, start new on the business."

It took Liam a solid thirty seconds to process it, but once he did I realized I had been right about absolutely everything I saw in the kitchen that day. And his saying yes to Niall had been the wrong decision.

"He's gone? For good?"

No, Zayn did not say whether he would ever return, but he didn't need to.

"I suppose I'll see him around a bit. But I don't think he's coming back here."

Liam's mouth opened and closed, countless emotions flitted through his eyes before he ducked out, but it was so clear that Liam felt an agony so severe that I could only begin to relate.

Harry turned to me, his normally innocent face indignant.

"You knew he was leaving and you didn't tell anyone?"

"I didn't know until a few hours ago, and it wasn't my business to tell."

"You didn't try to stop him?"

I was overwhelmed by his annoyance, to say the least.

"I did, Hazza. He wouldn't listen. He swears William has changed, and that he can't stay here and watch Liam and Niall be coupley. You have to understand…."

But he didn't. He threw the covers back and left, the door to Liam's room closing a moment later. Between the quiet transitions of the commercials, I swear I heard crying. Well, I loved Liam, but what did he expect? He couldn't string Zayn along and expect him to be happy about it. And Harry couldn't be mad at me. If I, with all my hesitations, let Zayn go with Bumper, he should accept that.

Now unsettled, I kicked away the covers and took Harry's dishes into the kitchen, only to find that I'd have to add them to an alarmingly large pile. There, I found a distraction. From Zayn leaving, from Harry's disgust with me for not stopping him, and of course from Gemma and Luca.

I started with the kitchen, scrubbing every dish until it gleamed. Then I moved onto the floor, and rearranging the refrigerator contents. From there I walked about the house, picking up laundry and straightening out piles of magazines and books. In a place like theirs, where they thrived on the style of chaotic colors and prints along the walls, there was only so much I could do. But I cleaned, until Harry finally emerged from Zayn's room and sat on the couch. He watched me push the vacuum over the brown carpet, not commenting.

Harvey and Niall brought the groceries in shortly after, but I refused to let them stuff up the new system I had of arranging the food. Harry drifted in, following me like a shadow, just as I finished arranging the fruit in the kitchen bowl.

"Hey…."

"Hello," I replied curtly, while I pulled the silverware from the drawer. I could properly arrange it, big spoons on the bottom, the knives to the right….

"I'm not mad," he said lightly. "Not anymore. Li's just so broken up now, and it's a problem that can't be fixed. I kind of took it out on you, and I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes and let the apology sink in before I went back to work.

"S'okay. What do you want to do today?"

Relieved the tension had dissipated, he clambered onto the bar stool and winked at me.

"Whatever you want to do. Dancing on the moon, kissing under the Eiffel Tower, or maybe eating spaghetti in Italy…."

"Something attainable, please."

"Well…" He frowned, thoughtful. "I need to go to the gym, since I don't have yoga classes for a few more weeks to keep me in shape. That's a boring date idea, I know, but it's something."

"I'd love to go. Just let me finish this up and get changed."

"Into yoga shorts?" Harry asked, with all the dirty enthusiasm I missed in the last few days.

"Into loose gym shorts. And a robe. You won't be seeing anything. Not even my cankles."

"But those are my favorites," Harry whined. "I guess the pictures on my phone will have to do."

"Ha."

Harry insisted that I drive, to get a better feel for my new truck and maybe because he busied himself stuffing his face with a breakfast muffin. Which he couldn't do while driving. Prick.

But he did look fit in his torn muscle shirt and gym shorts, so I forgave him.

His gym also sponsored his yoga classes, so he only swiped his card once and let us both in to the wide expanse of a room. A row of treadmills lined the wall, abandoned, facing a row of mirrors and various weight machines. Looking round, I found that the whole place was empty.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, wincing at my faint echo.

"The gym is technically closed except to staff right now. Which I happen to be."

"Closed? It's the middle of the day!"

"Still letting people catch up from the holidays," Harry explained. "No one would want to get up and drive through the snow just to exercise anyway."

"Are we talking about the same snow you just made me drive through?"

He took in my face with an amused smirk.

"Weights or running first?"

"Running."

To my amusement, he pulled a bandanna from his pocket and tied it over his hair, to keep anything from getting in his face. Frankly, he'd never looked more ridiculous, which spoke volumes.

I started with the lowest speed the treadmill offered, letting my tired muscles loosen under the stride. Having a car meant next to no walking the miles that my body was accustomed to. It took five minutes before I broke out into nearly the fastest setting, watching Harry falter and pant from the corner of my eye at his medium pace.

"Wanna move onto lifting a few pounds?" I teased. My breath was hardly short.

"How-" Huff. "Are you-" Huff huff. "Doing that?"

He let out a wheeze of defeat and punched the numbers on the console, until he returned to a slow walk. With his hands on his sides, I could tell he had exhausted himself. To be fair, he lasted longer than the average person did.

"I ran my entire life babe," I explained, still flying. "From people. To people. From and to places. That's why having the truck is so weird. This is all I'm used to."

I pressed the stop button. Five miles.

The treadmill slowed to a crawl, and then a stop.

"Let's hit weight before our heart rates get down," I suggested when it became apparent he wouldn't stop staring anytime soon. A gleam formed in his eyes as he rushed over to the benches. Maybe Harry and I shouldn't have expanded on our sexual lives. Now everything about him made me think of his eyes that night in the shower, how his cheeks hollowed around my cock and his eyes fluttered shut.

"You joining me?" he asked. Like I would rather be anywhere else.

Harry and Niall would be starting back to school the next day, so we spent our last free day together in front of the television, watching the remainders of the Christmas specials. Harry favored Jack Frost, but Niall liked Rudolph. Liam wanted to watch the Disney specials, but mercifully Niall shot the idea down so we didn't have to.

We were careful about the balance we'd found that night, Liam and Niall trying not to snap at each other and Harry tip toeing around his childhood memories involving the specials. We tried not to mention Gemma when we spoke about the past.

Around midnight, Niall's energy failed him, and Liam insisted on going to bed.

"You have school tomorrow, babe. And you need to get your math grade up."

"Fuck maths," Niall mumbled sleepily, into Liam's shoulder. He got up anyway, stumbling after Liam until they shut their bedroom door behind them.

I stood to head to bed as well. But Harry caught me round the waist and tugged me into his lap.

"Let's not go just yet. We can watch the fire channel."

The fire channel was a lame sort of thing we discovered before Christmas. Zayn took every bit of credit for it, especially after everyone proclaimed it to be amazing. Essentially, it was a channel with nothing but a realistic fireplace being shown while music played softly in the background. Every time we watched it, I dozed off.

"If you want me to fall asleep right here, sure. Go ahead. Change the channel."

"Okay. But only because you told me to."

He winked cheekily at me and reclined until we were flat on the sofa, me splayed across his chest. Dsepite my vow that I would immediately doze off, I still couldn't help but to be scared that Harry would slip into a nightmare. We stayed there for a while, me watching the clock on the wall as the hours crept by. Before long, Harry's soft snores filled the room, comforting but endearingly annoying.

I decided to let myself sleep as well, the feeling of warmth and content as soothing as stepping into a warm bath. Just as my eyes slide shut, Harry began to thrash beneath me, groaning and occasionally whimpering.

Sitting up, I studied his face. Was he having some sort of nightmare? As if to answer my question, a tear slipped from the corner of his closed eye.

"Harry, wake up!"

Grabbing his shoulder, I shook him roughly, until his eyes shot open and he trembled beneath me.

"What's going on?"

"You were having a nightmare, I think. Thrashing about like an eel. How was I supposed to sleep on a moving bed?" I asked, attempting a joke.

He cracked a smile at me, but it faltered instantly.

"So are you okay?" I probed, as his eyes glazed over, staring at a spot just over my head.

"It's just…when do you think it will stop hurting?"

His question struck me like a blow to a stomach. Great. How did I tell him it never stopped? I couldn't lie to him, but to be honest would be to hurt him further.

"It gets better with time." There, a neutral ground worked. "Just know she isn't suffering anymore. It's a cliché, but it's been said a thousand times for a reason."

"Tomorrow seems very far away," Harry sighed. "Especially after feeling like…this. I think the worst part is knowing that I'll never see her face again, or yell at her to hurry up in the bathroom, or fight over who gets the most pancakes at breakfast. I never thought about those things until they were gone, ya know?"

"Trust me, I know."

"Oh God, I'm sorry Lou. I can't believe I forgot how well you understand."

"We all do," I told him simply. "Harvey, Reggie, Zayn, me….Luca understood too. We all lost something very crucial in our lives that resulted in the…predicament…we were in when you stumbled into my life."

"Like what?" Harry asked. "Are you actually going to share something with me?" If the tears weren't so fresh on his rosy cheeks, I might not have told. It wasn't my business, anyway. But Harry wanted to know, and he wasn't going to be repeating anything.

"Harvey…" I began with the youngest of us. The most innocent mistake. "He….uh…did camping tours and sold equipment for rich people. They had their regulars, of course, and sometimes a couple would get frightened off and demand to sleep in his camper, so he'd sleep in their tent while they watched telly and ate his food."

"Now much of a camping experience," Harry remarked, still sniffling a little.

"Not at all, but one day one of the regular couples had a fight, and the husband told her that he would be camping and she could suck it up or leave. So she stormed off and jumped right into Harvey's trailer. She had no idea that he actually lived there. Figured it was some kind of backup from the campers too scared of the woods at nightfall. They sat together, shared some wine, and he fell in love. Every time they camped, the wife chickened out, supposedly, and went and slept with Harvey."

"Slept as in sleeping or sex?" Harry asked.

"Sometimes both, but mainly sex." I smiled despite myself before going on. "The husband stopped bringing her, so she told him she joined a bunch of local organizations that kept her busy-and kept her with Harvey."

Harry's fingers glided down my arm in a soothing way. I hadn't even realized my voice had been shaking.

"Did the husband find out?"

"Oh yes. Caught them together, then turned around and walked right back out. That night, after the wife went home, Harvey was asleep in his camper when he woke up to the smell of smoke."

The fingers on my arm stilled, hovering near my wrist.

"Did he…?"

"Yeah. Set the camper on fire. When Harvey got out, he was burned badly enough that he couldn't leave the hospital for months. He and Reggie had grown up together, and at this point, Zayn and I already lived together. So when Reggie asked if Harvey could stay with us, Harvey ended up begging Reggie to come along as well. Reggie had lost his mum several years back, and had been living in local foster homes until he was old enough to live out of shoebox sized flats. He was grateful, really."

And those times had been the best. We all took turns dodging the duty of peeling the last bit of skin of Harvey's back, even though we did it in the end, it was fun having him chase us. Growing up in the wooded areas, the kid had no idea how to skateboard, either. Zayn had taught him, had even went dumpster diving at the skate club for a board. Rich kids threw theirs away when the newest models came out. In a typical Zayn fashion, he spray painted Harvey's name in graffiti on the bottom in a complicated pattern of swirls.

Reggie hung back from us at first, still hurt and tired from the string of abuses that had plagued his childhood. But one day, a week after Luca joined us, we all discussed love. Harvey insisted he wouldn't go for it again. Reggie, Zayn, and I agreed it didn't exist. Luca insisted it did, but it was only for good people, who lived their lives for others selflessly. Love, he said, was the ultimate gift that humanity could receive. And lowlifes like us didn't deserve it. We couldn't argue with that one.

That's when Reggie said he had a story from us. He read it there, as we sat in a circle on the threadbare carpet, right from the top of his head. And Zayn, starry eyed, asked, "Can I illustrate that?"

"Louis?" Harry's concern snapped me from my memories.

"Ye-yeah?"

"Do you think everyone will be okay?"

"Yeah. We're going to make it just fine. All of us," I added, staring him directly in the eyes.

"Will you tell me Luca's? And Zayn's?"

"Those are stories for another day, love. But I can almost tell you Reggie's tonight. I've wanted to share it with you, but it never seemed appropriate. But now I'm thinking it's okay."

I clambered off of him, padding towards the bedroom. Our room was dark, the blackout curtains that Harry agreed to hang for me did their job beautifully. No star shine or moon slants lit my way. Not that it mattered; I knew this room like I had known no other. From my dresser drawer, I dug beneath the socks and underwear and pulled out the book. The cover, two hands clasped together in a near desperate way, was tattooed beneath my eyelids. I could trace every line perfectly with my eyes closed.

Making my way back to him, I knew that this would be a commitment far more serious than a ring. Maybe not to him, but for me. The book had been our guide, the lines etched into our lips as we cried out stranger's names in back alleys. We always remember that love would do nothing for us, that everything we could ever do would falter and waver if we were to give ourselves away.

But the thing was, I trusted Harry, a hell of a lot more than I trusted myself.

As I rounded the corner, Harry perked up, sliding over to make room for me.

"What is that?"

"Reggie's mum used to tell him bedtime stories. About knights and dragons and warriors. They used to joke about her stories being published, but I don't think she ever had much hope for anything after his father shot himself and left them with a penny to their name. But Reggie loved her, so much. They had the strongest bond. So he began writing down her stories as she told them, insisted that one day they would publish them and they wouldn't ever have to read by candlelight again, just because they couldn't pay the electric bill."

"I had no idea-" Harry began, troubled. Maybe regretting how fierce he'd been over Gemma.

"It's okay," I cut him off. "Most people don't. The night she overdosed, her story changed. No heroes, no love or happily ever after. She set the standard in Reggie's life for love, and then took it all back. It wasn't much of a bed time story, really. A poem maybe, or I guess a suicide note. Reggie doesn't like analyzing it that far. But Zayn illustrated it, and we kept it close. In case we needed reminding."

His eyes were locked on the book with a sharp sense of concern.

"Read it, then. I'm curious."

I smiled wryly and cracked the book, the pages stiff from paint, and I read in a soft voice. Harry rested his head on my shoulder, eyes skimming over the pictures. And I read to him the last secret I had.

_Once upon a time people_

_Were made whole and healthy_

_And once people stayed that way_

_With all their parts _

_And their hearts were their own_

_Once upon a time cities_

_Were built on hills _

_But the forest bowed to _

_Concrete_

_Yet all that falls _

_Invariably once stood_

_And all that rises will stand stronger_

_Or it shall not have existed _

_At all_

_In both memory and _

_Design _

_The forest fought back _

_Yet the children started _

_Asking why_

_There was a forest growing in their city_

_Instead of asking why a _

_City was growing in a _

_Forest_

_And this happens still _

_When people question_

_Natural things_

_Like love_

_And pain_

_More than once or twice _

_Upon this time _

_A child would ask their parents_

_Why teenagers wear _

_Bandages on their wrists_

_And then the parents would_

_Explain_

_They actually lacked _

_Something to make them_

_Appreciate life_

_They called them patchwork people _

_With all their parts _

_And all their happiness_

_Recycled _

_Into pretty pills_

_With days of the week _

_Etched onto an ugly green case_

_Their hearts were not their own_

_They _

_In fact_

_Belonged to men in grey suits_

_Nodding over clipboards _

_All things that fall _

_Invariably once stood, they explain_

_But some just never _

_Learned to straighten their knees_

_And walk _

_In a city growing in a forest _

_Was a desperation _

_Growing beneath their skin_

_And darling I know you ask of daddy_

_But he had stitches _

_And gauze to hold him through _

_But he hated himself,_

_Cut lines to for the hate_

_To seep out _

_Instead it crept in _

_But he loved us and his_

_Freedom _

_Both the same_

_The day he put a bullet_

_In his brain_

_I don't want you to fear _

_We put all of him in that casket_

_All I ask_

_Is that you are never a patchwork person_

_With all your parts mangled _

_And scratched away _

_By strangers on streets _

_Stay whole_

_And stay you_

_Before you are looking down _

_At someone else's heart_

_And that means _

_You've given them the power _

_To rip the stiches out._

For a long while, Harry stared at the last page, face blank. I shut it, afraid that I had somehow broken him, but he snapped out of it as the pages pressed back together.

"What are you….what are you trying to tell me, Lou?"

I took a deep breath. Here came the hard part.

"We all broke part of the promise, even if it was for Reggie. But we agreed that love would break us into parts, that it would destroy us and we might be the next thing that became buried beneath our grief. And we had so many unhealthy ways of dealing with these things…especially at first. Then we agreed to stop, to hold the things society wanted most over their heads, so that we might have power for once. And you wouldn't believe all the wonderful things that people would say to us when they found out what we sold. Just like that, we were on top, and we didn't deviate from staying away from the society so determined to pick apart people like us. We were so smug over finding this…life hack. WE just had to stop caring and suddenly people cared."

Reluctantly-I had never done it before- I clasped Harry's fingers and guided them until they brushed along the underside of my forearm.

"What do you feel?" I asked.

"Bumps?" he asked quizzically. Then it clicked.

"You…you used to….?"

Timidly, I nodded and let go of his hand. He kept his fingers pressed against the white scars, tactfully but not fully covered by tattoos.

"How much don't I know about you?" he asked, with a trace of desperation. "When are you going to stop dropping bombs like this?"

"Don't be upset," I soothed him. "I read it to you for a reason. Do you know how many years we said no one would ever have the power to hurt us again? That we'd never give anyone a chance?"

He shook his head, eyes trained on my scars still.

"Four. Four long years and we kept ourselves safe. Reggie moved out briefly-when he lived with his girlfriend, we only learned so recently-but we always stuck together. Then Zayn forgets to sell his monthly stash, and begs me to go out with him on a selling expedition. Then, in the park, I saw the most beautiful lad, fast asleep in the back of a van. And when he woke up, it was like he'd been waiting for me his entire life. And I'd been waiting for him. The boys knew right away, of course. But then Zayn and Liam….and even Reggie, the original receiver of the story, who'd taken it the most seriously, fell in love as well. You and your friend and sister destroyed what we knew. And Zayn gave Liam the power we all swore against. Liam nearly killed him. Reggie gave that to Gemma, and now he's a mess."

I swallowed heavily at the mention of her name.

"Despite that….and I know that not every love story works out perfectly, I want you to understand that you have all of me. That I love you, and I'm not saying it lightly. I love you enough to tell you these things, and to trust you not to hurt me, which isn't entirely fair because I've hurt you a lot in the short run. I know that two of us failed when we broke that promise, but me and you…I think we can make it, Hazza. I want us to so bad."

Tears formed in his eyes, gluing his eyelashes together until they spilled over. Had I upset him this much?

"If you want the same," I finished lamely. What else could I do? I'd either offended him to the point of no return, or I'd made a difference in our relationship. Then, so slowly I might have been dreaming, he placed his hand on the book and took it from me. He set it on the other side of him and shifted even closer to me.

"Please don't ever hurt yourself again," he whispered fiercely. "Don't think that I don't love you so much it drives me insane. And don't ever think I'm going to hurt you. I would never…I couldn't even consider it."

That, it seemed, was all I needed to hear in order for all my worry and anxiety to be pushed away, buried beneath the love in his eyes, the love in the way his lips brushed against mine. I had no idea where we would go from here, but things would inevitably fall into place.

And all was well.

For another day, at least.

The change happened so fast I had whiplash. The next day, Liam and I lounged in the kitchen, him poking fun at my cooking skills, when Harry and Niall pulled up.

"Is school really out already?" I asked, like I hadn't been checking the clock every thirty minutes in anticipation for Harry. Going from seeing him all the time, being able to kiss him all I wanted, from this lousy time gap was not cool. Before, during the fall, it hadn't been so bad. I slept during the day and sold around midnight, so I had a whole gap in my schedule where Harry fit perfectly in. Now I was waiting all day and it was agonizing.

"Must be. It's about that time. Good thing I cooked extra, otherwise Niall would have a fit."

Outside, two car doors slammed in synch, and Niall's laughter floated in, increasing in volume as Harry pushed open the door. One look at his face, and my stomach tightened. He was…distraught. I couldn't place it any other way, and it didn't make sense because Niall looked like Christmas was coming back for a round two. Or rather, a decent Christmas was coming back for round one.

"Are you picking on Harry?" Liam scolded, one hand on his hip and the other holding the spatula in the air menacingly.

"Depends. Are those blueberry pancakes?"

"They are if you weren't picking on him. If you were, they're raisin."

"Not raisins," Niall howled, throwing his arms around Liam. "Please, Lili. Okay, so I was teasing him, but you'll never guess who our student teacher is for music appreciation!"

"Niall-" Harry warned. He hovered back near the doorway with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped forward.

"Grimmy!"

Liam stiffened, eyes darting from Harry to me and back again with the first hint of fear.

"Niall, how is this good news in any sort of way?"

"It's not," Niall said simply. "It's just funny coz he thinks he's going to win Harry back-" I bristled instinctively. What the hell? And Niall plodded on, oblivious. "-he even told 'im so. Grabbed his hand and said that him having a boyfriend didn't matter."

"Niall for fuck's sake!"

Niall flinched. Harry rarely raised his voice, but when he did, you knew he was truly furious. "I don't want to hear about him. I spent all day dodging him, and I finally think I'm gonna get home and have some relief, but you start up. Please drop it!"

"Who is Grimmy?" I asked. My voice sounded wrong to my own ears-stiff and monotone. Harry flinched.

"Nick Grimshaw. Grimmy is just…"

"The pet name you gave him," Niall muttered, and Harry's flushed.

"He's my ex-boyfriend," Harry spat out, glaring at Niall once more. "Very strong emphasis on ex, okay? Ex for a reason. Ex as in I don't want to have anything to do with him, and I never will again."

I couldn't even find a word to express the jumble of emotions balled up inside, choking me. Harry hadn't mentioned an ex-boyfriend. Not ever. Not that I'd ever mentioned my flings, but those didn't mean I'd had a connection with them.

"Why's he your ex?" I asked, trying to control the strain of jealousy tugging in my vocal chords.

Liam turned away, to the stove, and Niall excused himself to the bathroom abruptly. Liam turned and watched him hurry away, clearly wishing he could follow.

"He…" Harry swallowed with an audible gulp. "…uh…used a lot of drugs. Got into the habit of selling them, buying them…whatever he fancied…"

Habit. My mind processed the word and spit it out. It wasn't a fucking habit. He made it sound like a hobby that could be quit at any moment, like knitting. Like planting flowers. No, selling drugs was an all-consuming lifestyle. And it had been mine. It still hung over me, and lately it had been weird not heading to the club with Zayn and Reggie bickering and Harvey and Luca talking sports. It had been weird not selling, or standing in back alleys blowing on my hands to keep warm until a customer showed.

All of Harry's reactions now made sense. I'd disgusted him, and he'd been so happy when I lied and told him I no longer sold, all those months ago. I'd let him down.

"We're very much done," Harry swept on, biting his lip in the silence after.

"I believe you," I said, but my voice sounded flat even to me. Struggling to find my old sarcasm, I smirked and stretched my arms out, asking for a hug. He gratefully stepped into my arms, sighing against my neck.

"You aren't planning on leaving me for him, are you?" I teased.

"Never!" he exclaimed, clearly offended.

"Then I don't see a problem here. I do need to find something to do, though. While you are busy in school. I can't take this sitting around waiting all day."

"He's been a mess all day," Liam added hurriedly and very obviously relived at the ease of tension in the room.

"Have not," I argued stubbornly, but I clutched Harry closer to me, wrapping my legs around his waist. "I would never be one of those boyfriends that's suffocates their partner."

I squeezed him closer, eliciting a sweet laugh. I couldn't ever lose that sound, especially not over a problem that had existed before me.

Harry leaned away, but took me with him, until I wrapped around him like a koala. He carried me out that way, to his car where he dumped me in the passenger seat. He shut my door for me, winking, but I could still hear Liam shouting after us.

"Where are you going?! The food is almost done!"

"McDonalds!" Harry called back as he slid behind the wheel. Every vehicle came off too small for his lanky frame. Watching him fold himself in had been a cause on endless amusement for me. But even as he buckled up and turned the radio up, I couldn't help but to picture what Grimmy-Nick-looked like. Was he a handsome lad? How long had he and Harry been together? And what was the final straw for them?

Then another problem slipped into my mind, chasing away the worse.

"I can't go in anywhere! I'm in my pajamas!"

"My pajamas," Harry corrected. "And you look adorable."

He did too, in his blue blazer and tight jeans. Had Nick noticed how long his legs were, or how he was breaking out just a little along his hair line? Had the chip in his front tooth happened after Grimmy, or before?

"Okay," I finally conceded. "But you're paying."

Like there had been any other option in the first place.

As we drove home, me lunging across the gear shifts to attempt to steal a lick from his ice cream cone, I saw the sign.

"Hey, stop there!"

"Here?" He stopped in the middle of the street, the sleet sliding against the glass and obscuring the red light just ahead. "I usually wait until I'm right against the light…but you know…this works too…."

"No, Giraffe. It's my tattoo parlor. Let's go inside for a bit."

Wordlessly, he put the car in reverse and made an illegal swerve across the abandoned street, pulling directly into the parking lot. Only three other cars were vacating the cramped space, probably those of the tattoo artists; Kelvin always told me the holidays were slow until people decided to spend their Christmas money with them a couple of weeks later.

"Mind telling me what we're doing?" Even as he asked, he unbuckled and clambered out, fully trusting me.

"There's a help wanted sign," I pointed out. "For a receptionist type deal."

"You? A receptionist?"

"What? I could do it."

"No I'm just…" he shook his head. "I'm trying to picture you in a skirt and blouse."

"Save it for the bedroom," I joked, grabbing his hand and leading the way inside.

The waiting room had the exact vibe I'd been accustomed to, though I'd never used this tattoo parlor before. Kelvin had almost always made his trips to us, or met us outside by his car. Black couches were pushed against the red walls, facing the flat screen television hanging over the abandoned counter. MTV was showing an episode of Guy Code, but it was lost among the distant whir of the tattoo gun in the back room.

"Maybe we should go."

"Or maybe we should ring this bell," I suggested, picking the silver thing up from the counter and giving it a shake. After a brief tinkling, the machine gun faltered for a moment. Hushed voices argued over something before a tall woman with a shaved head and several eyebrow rings emerged from the back. She wore purple gloves that covered a little of the tattooed sleeves on her arms. Her patterns were feminine and intricate, where mine and Zayn's had always been rather random. Here a wolf howled at the sun, and the sun burned away into a complicated pattern of swirls that transformed into flowers and so on. A man followed her, holding his tongue out as tears flowed freely down his face.

"Baby," the woman muttered as she slid behind the counter. "You know how much it is," she told him, speaking louder. Obviously having heard the insult, the man took his hand away from his face and pulled a few crumpled bills from his back pocket and threw them her way.

"'itch," he said, speaking over his freshly pierced tongue.

"Pussy," she shot back without hesitation. So much for treating customers like royalty.

She shook her head and turned to us.

"What can I do for you?" As I'd done for her, she swept the length of my arms, noting the tattoos. Her eyes-much like a cat in their slanted way-landed on each of my piercings. The two eyebrow rings, the lips, my ears. She must have decided she liked me; the hostility drained away.

"I'm interested," I said, jabbing my thumb towards the help wanted sign. "I know Kelvin would love having me around to pick on. As a bonus, I grew up in places like this, so you won't have to bitch at me too much. I adjust fast anyway."

She contemplated this before shrugging.

"Okay. You're hired."

"Wh-what?" Harry sputtered. "Just like that?"

"Why not?" she shrugged. "Come in tomorrow around nine, eh? We can go over the procedures. Maybe we can even get you started on piercings before long."

I muffled a snicker behind my hands. I pierced Zayn's lip with an ice cube and a sewing needle, and had done a marvelous job. We wouldn't go back to our ninth year when we pierced out own ears. I was familiar with piercings and shit, but she could treat me like a child if she wanted to.

"I'd like that. I might get another tattoo while I'm here…something small…"

I had some spare cash, and with a job now secured it couldn't hurt, right? Then, Harry stunned me by standing straighter and clearing his throat.

"I'd like a tattoo as well."

I whipped around and stared at him, sure I'd catch a glimmer of joking somewhere in his face. None.

"Macon is busy and Kelvin took off for the holidays. I can getcha in though. Both of ya. My name is Serena by the way."

"I'm Harry. This is my boyfriend Louis."

Again, I had to suppress a bought of laughter. The woman had hired me before even knowing my name. This was the kind of fast, sketchy lifestyle I had been accustomed to. In fact, being here felt so normal and right.

"What would you both like?" she asked, pulling out a portfolio.

Harry opened to the first page and pointed, seemingly, at the first thing he saw.

"Those."

"The swallows?" she asked. "Very popular."

"I want two," he explained, voice tinged with excitement. Once he'd decided-and he'd decided fast-he knew exactly what he wanted down to the littlest detail. "Facing each other, just under my collarbone."

"Can do. Want some time to think on yours, Louis?" she asked, stepping back towards the drawing room.

"Yeah….I can think of something pretty quick, though. Don't you worry."

I tipped my head back to Harry and found him watching me intently, eyes scanning over every inch of my face and back again, until he settled at my eyes.

"Serena?" he called out.

"Yeah?" her voice was muffled by the distance. "I want one of the birds smaller than the other, okay?"

With such deliberate gentles, he placed a hand on my hips and drew my closer.

"But just a little," he whispered, half-teasing, and half-sad.

Serena made a vague noise of agreement. Her fame was just visible round the door, her hunched figure sketching away.

"Any symbolism behind that?" I asked, enjoying him squirm. "I mean, I'd think. Tattoos are kind of-sort of-permanent."

Not that I could talk-I was covered in them and I would be the first to admit some were beyond pointless. Like the stick figure skateboarding I'd gotten at sixteen.

"I think," he said, voice husky, "that you proved this is very permanent last night. I'm young, but I'm not stupid. I know this is it. And I mean, it's not like I'm getting your name tattooed on me."

"Louis?" Serena called from the back. "Make your mind up yet?"

Yeah, I had.

"I can't believe you got my name tattooed on you!" Harry cried, slapping the steering wheel. He wasn't really angry. Just going through a minor phase of disbelief.

"It's not all together," I argued.

"It's still there! Lou, are you mental?"

"No, I'm sure," I insisted. "Worst case scenario? We break up." The words sent a shiver through me. "But I don't think we will. If you want to be a prick and say we might, well the thing is you will always mean something to me, so what could it hurt?"

Harry shook his head, smiling but still gnawing away at his lip.

"The letters aren't even together," I repeated stubbornly.

And that had driven Serena crazy. But I'd gotten the letters in all the places that I affiliated with Harry and the way he touched me.

The H on the inside of my lip, where he sometimes dipped his tongue as a joke. He knew that I hated it, but I loved it, too. The A behind my ear, where he kissed me when I dozed away into dreamland. He was there, too, but I couldn't place a marker on those dreams.

His first R was on my shoulder, where he placed his hand and guided me when we were out in crowds. It had been placed right where his fingers gripped me, always making sure I wasn't straying from him.

The second R went on my hipbone, a mostly clear spot on my body in terms of tattoos. It stood for those times he was sitting and he drew me in to stand between his legs. Just as he had that first time, when he fell and hurt himself skateboarding and I had to patch him up like a toddler.

The Y went on my foot, for two reasons. Lately the cold had arrived full force, and at night our feet rubbed together in a strange game of footsie as we desperately tried to keep warm. Even with the heat turned all the way up, we had a chill that was near inescapable. The second reason was more symbolic, in the way that he guided me, gave me strength to keep moving forward. To keep my feet in motion.

I'd explained each to him, enjoying the fierce blush on his face as I listed off each one.

"And they're rather hidden amongst the other ink, don't you think? No one will ever really notice."

"You have my name tattooed on you," Harry said, still disbelieving. "Forever."

"Are tattoos permanent?" I scrunched up my face in mock-confusion. "Wait…I think we had this discussion."

This time, he slapped me, lightly enough that I knew he was pleased. It radiated from him, the admiration and the starry eyed wonder. If he'd ever doubted me, I hope he didn't now.

We hadn't even left the parking lot yet when he shook his head and stepped back outside.

"I'll be right back out. Wait here."

"What are you-"

He slammed the door, effectively cutting me off. I could see him through the window, approaching Serena and then disappearing into the back with her. The time he took to return was much too fast for him to have gotten another tattoo. Baffled, I opened my mouth to question him when he stepped back in, but he shook his head curtly.

"Are you mad?" I asked, knowing the answer but wanting the consolation all the same.

The fierce edge in his eyes softened as he took my hand and shook his head again.

"Good. Those tattoos are very hot on you."

They were, too. I'd taken a picture on my phone before they were bandaged up and stared while Serena drew the letters on my skin. Keeping my hands off of him was becoming increasingly harder.

At home, Niall and Liam were snuggled on the couch, sharing a bowl of cheesy popcorn. Harry didn't even try to hide the bandages; he wasn't foolish enough. Me? I looked rather ridiculous with small pieces of gauze taped to various body parts. I'd been unable to put my shoe on, so Harry had carried me inside.

So that 'my feet won't freeze'.

"What have you done?" Niall sprang up, upending the bowl of popcorn in his wake. Liam frowned at this mess in the floor. He shrugged and turned to us with a cool, fatherly look.

"Did you two idiots go get last minute tattoos? Without thinking them through?"

"Yep." Harry patted his chest area proudly.

"I did too," I said, hanging my head with faux shame. "I mean, now I've ruined my body. Everyone can see them, probably. Maybe I can just stick a band aid over them…no one probably notices as is."

Liam's lips twitched as he fought back a smile.

"What did you get?" Niall asked, bouncing excitedly. He'd told me before he would never get a tattoo, but he enjoyed hearing other people's stories about them.

"Two birds," Harry said, almost under his breath. I didn't stop to think about how strange he'd been acting since he'd disappeared with Serena.

"Harry's name."

Liam spat out his drink of tea in shock. The smile slipped off Niall's face.

"Isn't that…like…bad luck?" Niall asked in a soft voice, as if some magic would befall us and Harry and I would suddenly hate each other and want to break up.

"Rumor." I rolled my eyes. "And the letters are scattered, so chill. Anyway, I've got a job at the parlor! So I can chip in on rent some more."

"Good," Liam said, settling back down on the couch. His feet crunched over the spilled popcorn. "We need it."

That, I was very familiar with.

Later, as Harry scrubbed his teeth and gargled mouthwash as loud as he could in the bathroom, I sat flipping through Patchwork People, skimming over the smooth lines that Zayn had drawn, the splashes of color and the smooth font. Zayn had always had this future in art, but he'd never taken it. It wasn't the sort of thing we dared to dream for.

Then, as if my thoughts summoned him, my phone vibrated. There he was, as if he'd never stopped talking to me. It hadn't been long, but it might have been months since I'd seen or heard from him. Go from living with your best friend to this and it's understandable.

His text was simple.

_**Might stop back by around late February. See you off from prom and all.**_

I couldn't help but to grin as I tapped off a reply.

_Har har. I bet all my tattoos are going to be covered in the lame tux. How's William?_

His reply was a long time coming, but Harry was still stomping around the bathroom-unintentionally of course-when he finally did answer.

_**Changed. You wouldn't believe it. Got this shady friend though, Parker, that follows us everywhere. Don't like the looks of him.**_

Before I could reply, he sent another message.

_**How is Liam. **_

_**Missing you, I assure you. But he and Niall are working I think. Just because there isn't any other option.**_

_**K.**_

I flinched. Zayn probably didn't want to hear that, but I figured he would know eventually. Depending on how fast they saved up money, Liam and Niall could be married within six months. Zayn would come back one day and find them that way, regardless.

"Something wrong, love?"

Harry slid into bed next to me, holding a bottle of water and one of his craft magazines.

"Zayn is more than likely making it back around to see us off to prom. Lovely, eh?"

"I can't wait!" His eyes lit up. "The dancing is great, and the punch bowl is always spiked. We also can get our pictures made with a lousy backdrop."

"Heavenly," I crowed with obvious sarcasm.

On the nightstand, the shrill, simple ringtone of Harry's phone went off. He'd been too lazy to change it back to his flute music after he had to restart it. Setting his water aside, he picked it up without glancing at the screen.

"Hello?"

As he listened to the response, he placed a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn.

"No…now's not a good time Nick…me and Louis were about to go to sleep. Or maybe not."

Tilting his head, he winked at me; I shivered in delight. Take that, Nick. I really had nothing to worry about if Harry was trying to shake him off and flirting with me while dealing with him.

"Louis is my boyfriend," Harry said, in reply to what sounded like an angry question. "We're busy tomorrow, sorry…..this weekend? No…that won't work, Louis and I are going out of town."

"We are?" I mouthed at him.

He nodded, but continued to listen to Nick with a frown. After many moments of hurried talk from the other line, Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. I think he'd picked the habit up from Zayn.

"I'll ask him, okay? But don't hold your breath. Goodbye."

His hanging up interrupted a desperate stream of words from the other line, but he tossed it aside without a second thought. Normally I'd think it unlike Harry to be so rude, but also I normally didn't give a fuck when it involved exes.

Nick may have said something to upset him, or maybe he was more determined on getting Harry back than even Niall thought. So now what?

"What did he ask?"

"He wants to meet you, have dinner with me, you, Liam, and Niall. They uh…used to hang out before Nick started running in a bad crowd. So do you…want to? Erm, you really don't have to. It makes no difference to me."

Did I want to meet Nick Grimshaw? Harry's ex-boyfriend, part of the reason he hated my previous lifestyle so much, and a desperate person trying to take just about the only thing I had left. But at the very least, I could size up the competition and be extra touchy with Harry during dinner.

"Why not?"

"Re-really?" Harry asked, sitting up straighter in surprise.

"Don't see any harm in it. It might do him some good to see that I've got you whipped anyway, right?"

Harry snorted and snuggled back against his pillow.

"I am not-" he opened his magazine aggressively. "-whipped!" Then he took a hearty swig of water, glaring at the pages.

"Right Hazza, that's nice and all but I'm kind of hungry."

"Well what do you want to eat?" he replied without missing a beat, the harsh lines on his face smoothing over.

I burst out into laughter, leaving him confused, and then annoyed.

"I love you, that doesn't mean I'm whipped! Would you rather me let you starve?"

Unable to answer over my laughter, I shook my head and buried myself in the covers. His face just made it so much worse; indignant and embarrassed by the realization that he actually might be whipped in the eyes of everyone else.

Underneath the covers, he joined me and grabbed me around the waist, fingernails digging ligtly into my exposed skin.

"It's not funny," he whispered harshly. "If you don't stop, I'll tickle you."

Actually, I don't think I could have stopped laughing if I tried, but when his fingers began tickling my sides I lost all voice. Tears rolled down my face, and I thrashed about worrying that I might actually wet myself. He let up, mercifully, and smirked at me in the darkness of our little world.

"Revenge taken. Now kiss me, you fool."

So I did, the tears barely dried on my cheeks and my stomach aching. His hands cupped my cheeks, my hands balled up against his chest, and our legs twined together like vines creeping up the side of a fence. When you fell in love, you would be surprised by the weird things you appreciated when the obvious no longer eclipsed your vision. Harry's breath smelled like our minty mouthwash, his lips chapped a little from his new habit of biting at them. His nose rubbed against mine, the breath hot on my face. I slid my tongue out, trying to part his lips, but he pulled away, chuckling.

"Goodnight, Boobear."

Without warning, he flipped onto his side and shut his eyes. Two minutes into what I had convinced myself as an act, he began to snore. For real. Rolling my eyes, I pushed as close to him as could, enjoying the smell of him, the faint whiff of flowers and ocean and the distinct smell of him. The smell that somehow…inexplicably, now involved me.

We didn't set a solid date for dinner with Nick, since apparently Harry and I were going out this weekend. Where to, I had no clue, but I did my best to get in hours at the Spades Tattoo parlor while I could. The feat wasn't as hard as I imagined. The flow of people in and out of the shop was such a drastic difference from the abandoned place Harry and I had visited.

The couches were always full, with people sitting on the floor or curled up in the corner, napping until their turn. Serena became insane around noon, when the customer flow became so heavy that she had to skip cigarette breaks and she cussed loudly enough for people to cover their ears.

My second day of work, she pushed me into the third back room and handed me a needle.

"Septum piercing. Go."

So I pierced, and she knew at that point that I had plenty of experience from teenage experience and the crash course on day one, but I had to say that she was putting a great deal of faith in me. But the income of cash from piercings helped me help Liam and Niall and Harry, so I threw myself in there with determination.

I'd never been accustomed to juggling so many bills that were actually mine.

Around nine people usually turned in for the night, vowing to come back tomorrow when 'maybe we wouldn't be so busy' and they shuffled out yawning. Serena emerged from the back, four cigarettes in her mouth to make up from the missed breaks, and she lit the one by one, left to right. Then, she'd pull them all out between her tattooed fingers and blow out a ring of smoke.

"I don't know what we did before you handling costs and piercings. Maybe we can actually breathe tomorrow."

But every day I worked, it was the same. Tuesday through Friday, I was flying from the back room and back to the counter, running off stencils and pulling up Google images for people unsure of what they really wanted. The money was great, but by Friday I was exhausted and looking forward to whatever Harry had planned for us. I came home around five, requesting off earlier so Harry and I could do whatever it was he was planning.

When I pushed my way inside, I was met with the sound of Niall and Liam yelling at one another in the kitchen, so loudly their words were a shrill screech. Hesitant, I hung by the door. Maybe I should just turn around and wait for them to finish, then walk back in and act like I'd just gotten home.

Harry peered around the corner of the living room, however, and saved me by gesturing for me to follow. Walking by, I caught a glimpse of Niall with his head down and Liam slamming the oven door shut, cursing.

"What's wrong now?" I whispered once Harry and I reached the sanctity of our room. On the bed, two plain blue suitcases were packed and ready to go, with Harry's duffel bag perched on top, the zipper still open.

He worked as he talked, disappearing into the bathroom and tossing mouthwash and our toothbrushes in a little bag and then into the duffel.

"Some words didn't come out right. Niall kind of joked about marriage ruining his life and Liam lost it. They're been at it for a solid hour. Honestly, I don't think Niall was even joking. They've been together so long, but Niall has always had this adventurous, wild streak ya know. No one ever thought he was suited to being tied down in a relationship, much less a marriage."

"So what now?" I asked. A dinner plate shattered against the floor; Harry and I winced in synch.

"Should we…?"

"Liam gets a bit unfocused when he's mad. He wouldn't throw anything at Niall."

"Okay." I watched patiently as he flitted around the room, throwing a few more things into the bag before zipping it shut and grabbing his car keys.

"Wait…do you want to change? We'll be driving for at least five hours."

"Yeah, sweatpants sound like heaven right now. Where are we going anyway? Am I allowed to know yet?"

As he sat on the edge of the bed, he watched me change from my skinny jeans to a pair of soft gray sweatpants, opting to keep the shirt with the Spades logo Serena gave me for free. I tugged on my black beanie.

"No, but I'll tell you it's a lovely town with a very diverse entertainment options, and I think we need a break from everything."

"I agree." I stopped in front of him on my way to get my favorite socks-fluffy and red-and kissed his nose.

Wordlessly, he handed me some of the luggage and we headed out, turning the light off in our wake. I let Harry yell the goodbye to Niall and Liam, who only paused for a heartbeat before returning to their screaming match. We piled into his car, turning up the heat and hooking Harry's iPod up to the stereo system. In the past few days, we'd been doing great. Gemma's absence still hurt, but just as we had with Luca, we couldn't stop and ache over the loss or it would have been all consuming. Instead we remembered Gemma in little ways. By watching her favorite movies and laughing at all those places that she laughed, by helping Anne with her garden-Liam was delighted to help-as we planted all of her favorite flowers, and keeping her favorite songs nearby.

I watched him scroll through the songs, wondering how much better he was really doing. If he hurt a lot more than he let on. It hadn't been but two weeks and here we were off on a mini-vacation. But I had to trust him to know what was best for him.

Around two hours into our drive, he began to nod off, so I prodded his side and demand he pull over on the interstate so that I could take the wheel. His protests hardly fazed me as I unbuckled and slid my slippers back on.

"'m fine. Just need a bit of coffee."

"No, you need a nap. Let me drive for at least an hour."

Apparently too sleepy to argue, he fumbled with his own seatbelt before staggering out onto the dark road. Once we were in motion, he dug in the back for his pillow and muttered an apology.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep last night. It's hitting me just now."

"Selective Insomnia." I rolled my eyes playfully. "Whatever. Go to sleep and let me play my music."

He obliged, faster than I would have thought possible. But Harry always did that, going from happy and giggly and then to a snoring pile of splayed limbs, as if someone had flipped a switch inside of him. Some nights he was restless, fidgeting and flipping through books and television channels, and then other nights he would be out before eight o' clock, sleeping a solid twelve hours. I'd never heard of such a weird sleeping pattern in my life.

The roads rolled on, with only the occasional car zipping past me. The GPS led me straight on for a good two hours, while I listened to softer songs that wouldn't wake Harry up. The task was tricky; they had to be soft enough not to alarm him but loud enough to beat his snoring. I chose Coldplay, singing softly along and thinking to myself the kind of thoughts that only came when there was nothing but a steady, relentless pace to follow.

Harvey and Reggie were doing alright. They'd helped us with the garden. Zayn had told me Parker would be visiting with him and Bumper within the next two months, which made me nervous. Parker sounded like trouble; according to Zayn, he'd been the result of two almost-busts and had brought more prostitutes into their apartment than he'd ever seen in his life.

Now that Harry and I lived together, I'd started thinking of my life more seriously, like what I should be doing with myself to leave a mark. I'd never thought these things before, so my mind had a difficult time wrapping around the concept of striving towards a larger goal.

A childhood dream flashed in my mind. Teaching performing arts at a uni or high school.

"You sing well."

I nearly jumped out of the car.

"Shit! Harry, a little warning." I studied him, focusing on the subtle bags under his eyes. "Did you get enough sleep?"

"No, but it'll do. I can drive again." He glanced at the clock. "We aren't too far, and that's when the fun begins."

"We're going to be playing mini golf at theme park, aren't we?"

"No!" he exclaimed, offended. "There aren't any theme parks in the area, or I might have considered it."

"Of course you would."

I pulled over, watching and admiring the curve of his muscles as he stretched and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Sometimes he behaved so childishly, and then I began counting the years between us, disbelieving that our space accounted for much. What had I been doing at his age? Moving all my belongings in two cardboard boxes into a shitty house while Zayn tried to figure out how to turn on the hot water in the shower, I think.

Life had made me grow up before I was even a teenager, but Harry had managed to stay in a pure bubble of appreciation for life. I prayed that didn't change with the loss of Gemma. I wanted him to always be this way, even when we were older.

"Move it," he said, sliding out. "You are going to love it…I know it."

"How long are we going to be gone?" I asked, returning back to the passenger seat as he adjusted the driver's seat.

"Two days, and then another half day of packing up and driving home. I figured now would be a good time to give Niall and Liam space, anyway."

"Do you think they'll break up?" I asked seriously.

Harry looked conflicted, but eventually he shook his head.

"I don't know. You can never tell with them, honestly. They have before, a year back, but they were so miserable without each other it only lasted about a week."

Well, I wondered, how long I last without Harry? We had a rocky beginning, and I'd stopped talking to him, but even before we were dating I was miserable without him. I didn't know whether that made me clingy or hopelessly in love. The latter sounded a lot more romantic, so I chose that one.

Around the promised five hour mark, we drove past a sign welcoming us to Eddington, the Town of Fun! Or so the sign promised. The night did nothing to interrupt the flow of the town, apparently, for countless people milled on the sidewalk, dipping into buildings that boasted laser tag, or indoor rock climbing, or indoor skydiving. Yeah, Harry chose well.

Our hotel was the best; five stars with a color scheme of oranges and reds. Clearly the hotel followed the design of the town-the same wild outburst of colors and life. No wonder Harry liked it so much-it reflected a good deal of what he was.

When I teased him about that, he merely shrugged.

"We flowerchildren enjoy life in all the ways we can. If that means mindless entertainment produced by technology every now and then, so be it. Fun is fun."

I had the sneaking suspicion that Harry only said that to feel less guilty, as it was clear that Liam, Niall, and of course he had an addiction to video games.

"There are no specific guidelines to being a hippie…" he said, folding a few t-shirts and shoving them in the top drawer. Although I would have been content to spend the next two days dragging things from the bottom of my suitcase, Harry wanted at least some form of organization, so that we 'felt more at home'.

"Of course there isn't," I replied. "Like hippies don't do yoga or eat disgusting vegetarian based meals, or wear peace sign necklaces or wear flower crowns…"

"All stereotypes," Harry protested. "Hippies just appreciate life more than others, I think."

"What is up with those flower crowns anyway?" I asked, finally remembering and finally having a solid opportunity to do so. "I mean, why do you wear them all the time? Don't they get on your nerves?"

"Not really," he said. "Gemma started it, really. There were other groups of hippies, more the type you're used to, I'm sure. The weed smoking kind that didn't believe in showering because the body's natural oils are 'precious'. They started getting a lot of hate around town…spray painting their beliefs on buildings and stuff. And we would never vandalize, as you are aware of. So Gemma suggested we do something to stand out from them…"

"And then came the flower crowns," I filled in.

"Bingo. Hey, do you want to nap before we hit the town or go ahead and start exploring?"

"Let's go now!" I bounced on the bed, excited. "I haven't played laser tag in years! And we can get our faces painted, and then…"

Harry grabbed my shoulders and kissed me, cutting me off.

"Okay okay! We can go now."

In the same clothes we traveled in, because fuck hygiene, we headed down the main strip of road, taking in each buildings sign and what it boasted. So many things to do in just two days…we couldn't possibly sleep. Unless Harry randomly fell asleep, then I guess I'd have to attempt to carry him around.

"Here's laser tag," he said, tugging my hand.

As he guided me towards the building, I bumped into someone with enough force that they staggered.

"I'm sorry!" I apologized, only to be met by cold gray eyes.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going."

Harry appeared, pressing into my side, as if he meant to shield me from his harsh tone.

"It was my fault," he explained cheerfully. "I was dragging him along and he didn't have much say in where he ended up going. I'm sorry."

I didn't bother saying that the boy had practically walked straight into me.

The boy stared at Harry as if he were an alien, but shrugged and dug in his pocket for his phone. As he drew it from his pocket, I could hear the distant buzzing noise of it vibrating.

"Let's go," Harry whispered in my ear.

While a part of me wanted to punch the guy for being an arrogant twat, another, larger part wanted to follow Harry into laser tag where I could kick his ass. I turned to follow, but the voice of the boy froze me.

"Not now, Zayn. I'm busy in Eddington."

I whipped back around, staring, but the boy was already moving off. There weren't many Zayn's in the area, and far less that would associate themselves with the tattooed, pierced, leather jacket wearing boy that had snapped at me. What had Zayn gotten into while he was away?

"Come on." Harry gave my arm a tug. "We're wasting moonlight."

"Right," I said through numb lips. I watched the boy weaving away through the crowd, using his broad shoulders to shove people out of his way. "Let's go."

Harry sufficiently kicked my ass, by the way. I did try my best to get into the game around an hour in, but all I could think of was what Zayn was doing associating with someone so cold and rude. Wasn't William enough to deal with? Harry gloated over his victory as we headed back towards the hotel to get a nap in before heading back out.

"You were barely moving! It was like playing with a statue!"

"I'll get you next time. It shouldn't be too hard to get you once I get my head in the game…I mean, I just point towards the ceiling, right?"

He laughed and headed towards a food vendor.

"Want anything?"

"Whatever you're having…wait no take that back. I want the biggest, juiciest hamburger available."

He visibly shuddered, but nodded and joined the queue of people. Hanging back, I pulled out my cell phone, very rarely used now that Harry and I lived together, and dialed Zayn's number. Apparently he hadn't changed some things; it took him about ten rings to answer.

"Zayn here."

"Louis here."

He paused.

"Louis? Why are you calling so late? Something wrong?"

Oh shit. I realized it was kind of well after midnight.

"No, not at all. I just had a question…"

"Fire awa-OI! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"Where are you?" I asked, listening to the grumbling from the other line.

"A bar. Clingy lads here, I swear. So what's the question?"

"I'm with Harry in Eddington, and I bumped into this bloke who answered his phone snapping at you. Didn't know if it was a coincidence."

Near silence on the other line. A few men resuming their yelling, possibly yelling for a sports team.

"That's a fucking coincidence if I ever heard one." He sighed. "But Eddington is the bestselling town. The most fun place for miles you now. So it seems you've met Parker," Zayn said warily.

"That's Parker? I can see why you don't like him. So why are you associating with him?"

"He's my…uh…" Zayn coughed, and cleared his throat. He really wanted the question avoided, but he would never lie to me.

"Spit it out, Zayn, if it's that bad. You'd better hurry before Harry gets back though, if you only want me to know." I glanced up, waving at Harry, who had moved almost to the front of the line. Leaning around an elderly woman in a purple dress, he squinted towards the menu.

Zayn grumbled before replying on the line.

"He's my other boss, okay? Jesus, you happy?"

"Other boss?" I scratched at the scruff on my chin, not fully understanding. "How many do you need for one task, mate?"

"I…started something newer, I guess. The money wasn't enough here, so I needed new ways to make my living."

"Zayn. Either you tell me in the next ten seconds or the next time I see you I'll replace all your hair products with bleach."

"I'm doing the same thing Niall did," he said in a rush, all the words jumbling together.

In the line, Harry handed over a wad of cash to the vendor, a young teenage girl clearly stressed with the length of the line behind him. I watched him, pegging him, marking him as the last line to connect me to a sense of calm as the rage bubbled beneath my skin.

"We swore we'd never…" The anger choked off my words, so I tried again. "Of all the lows we've hit…I thought you wouldn't…"

I couldn't do it. I couldn't let him know how disappointed I was, and how wrong it felt to judge after all we've been through, but fucking hell. Prostituting?

"I was desperate," he replied in a casual enough way that I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. "We have to be careful with drugs here in the states, but our bodies don't take much processing time, you know?"

I winced.

"Please stop doing it. Please."

Harry spun on his heel, heading my way with our food.

"Listen," I said quickly. "Harry's coming back. I'll text you, but take what I've said into consideration. You know it's toeing the line-"

"Something you never have done before," Zayn said in a playfully condescending voice. He wouldn't be considering a damn thing.

"Whatever. Bye."

I slapped the flip phone shut just as Harry reached me, holding out a hamburger in a foil package. It felt lukewarm in my hand, not as inviting as it would have been prior to my conversation with Zayn.

"Who were you talking to?" Harry asked, biting into his French fries.

"Zayn called to check up."

"You didn't look happy."

Fuck. It was still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that someone cared enough about me to pay attention.

"Yeah, he mentioned maybe visiting a little later. I just miss him, is all."

"You want to go back to the hotel? We have all day tomorrow, and it will be less of a crowd."

Though I didn't want to disappoint, I caved and nodded.

As his face crumbled in sympathy, my stomach twisted in guilt. Lying to him sucked from the beginning, but after so many promises and after all that we've been through, this sucked worse now. We drifted down the street, him not saying anything but instead holding my hand reassuringly. The vendors set up along the street tried to wave us over, but Harry guided me away, back towards the hotel.

"I don't know how you used to do this," he remarked, after we had covered almost half the distance. "I enjoy walking and a good run, but for everywhere…."

I shrugged noncommittally, clinging to his hand and pulling him along when he started to slack. Okay, I felt like a prick for letting my bad mood affect the vacation, but Zayn had made one stupid choice right after the other, and I was powerless to help him.

We spent the next morning lazily, ordering pizza with stiff crust and putting in chick flicks that Harry scrunched his nose up at first but then became horridly invested in within seconds. I watched him more than I did the movie, smiling as his teeth sunk around the vegetarian pizza-it wasn't bad, actually-and as he licked the sauce from his lips.

I loved him.

And that feeling built in me, constricting my chest, as I watched him in those seconds of fascination. Every freckle, every mole, every beautiful hair on his head and that felt like a lot to take in right then.

"I love you," I said aloud, just to release some of the feeling from my throat, from my mind.

He turned, surprised, but repeated it easily, like he meant it enough that it could roll off his tongue naturally.

"I love you too. Something on your mind?"

"How cute you look in my sweater, of course. And my beanie. I'm turning you into a punk."

His face expressed the utmost horror.

"Never! For that you don't get your surprise tonight."

"Surprise?" I perked up a bit. He snorted a little in laughter.

"Yes, surprise. But it has to be tonight, okay?"

I didn't much want to wait, but Harry was adamant about keeping me at bay, instead dragging me around the town and to the beach, where we made castles on top of sand dunes. My castles were more so hills of sand and a stick with a flag, but Harry's were almost decent. Around midnight, he took my hand and we started walking again. I full expected another random tourist attraction, but to my surprise, he led me towards the town's football stadium. The Eddington team had a bad streak for the past few years, but they'd made it to the championships last year.

"We aren't allowed in here," I pointed out. He ignored me, heading for the gates where a security guard stood. As we approached, he smacked his gum and looked us up and down.

"You're Harry Styles?"

"The one and only."

"Well go on."

He waved a knobby hand towards the gates and turned away from us. Confused, I hurried after Harry, shooting him pointed looks as he led the way through the entrance and straight onto the field.

My breath caught.

The lights of the stadium burned down on the rich, green grass, showcasing an entire playground for me. How much I'd missed it. The entire stadium was empty, but from looking around, you might expect it to fill up any second, becoming flush with eager fans. I surely wouldn't mind tickets to a game myself.

If only I had…

"Think fast!"

A black and white blur shot past me, thumping onto the grass before rolling lazily away.

"Harry? How did you arrange this?" I asked, my eyes trained on the ball. One sweeping kick and I could be dashing down the field in moments…..

When my question received on the most pressing silence, I turned and asked again.

"How did you afford this?"

Tentatively, he rubbed the back of his neck. Something told me he would stall all night if I allowed it, so I cleared my throat and tapped my foot.

"I used my uni savings," he grumbled.

"You did what?!"

Harry may be a bit of a daydreamer, certainly one to place importance on the free things of life, but he was no fool. He knew that he'd need uni eventually.

"I don't need it," he said stubbornly, as if addressing my thoughts. With a blush, he turned his attention to his sandals, eyes trained on the brain straps. "I'm going to work harder on becoming a singer. I've been writing these songs…and they might actually be good. I'd like for you to read them sometime."

My heart melted. He could have been a shy six year old, ashamed of meeting my gaze. Did he think I would be disappointed in him? As if.

"You could make it," I said. "It will be work, and I know you hate that, but I do believe in you."

I stepped forward, tilting my head for a kiss. Beaming, he returned the gesture, but at the last minute I jerked away and took off.

"Can't kiss me 'till you catch me!" I crooned. I dived for the ball, sweeping it underneath my foot and giving it a right kick until it was sailing across the green. Harry's footsteps sounded muffled on the grass, but his laughter was swept to me, fueling me into a wild run. I may have been faster, but he was driven by need.

Still, I managed to skid to a halt before kicking the ball, straight into the net with enough force that it bounced out and rolled away, to the bleachers. As I threw my hands into the air with a sense of deserved victory, Harry tackled me from behind, rolling until he was hovering over me.

"Score," I told him.

"Score."

Then he kissed me, his chapped lips brushing over mine so sweetly my stomach clenched. Would this perfect life continue so smoothly, into forever? How had I ever managed to deserve something so good?

Above us, the moon slung low in a crescent, almost as if smiling in agreement.

Harry sunk into the hot tub after me, his pale skin flushing with goose bumps. Amused, I raised my eyebrows as his teeth chattered from the cold but he hissed at the heat.

"Make your mind up, Giraffe. I'm getting lonely in here."

Resolved, he let his weight fall with a flop, sending droplets of the steaming water my way. Stretching out my arms, I grabbed his shoulders and dragged him close to me, sighing as my skin slid against his own. He chuckled at me, but I was worn from him dragging me all over town and then our raucous game of footy that nearly turned into a make out session before he pulled away and insisted we go get showered. After the shower, I suggested we make use of the hot tub while we still had a day left, and he'd readily agreed.

I pressed my lips to his, ignoring the way he stiffened. He'd been so odd for the past few days, but I'd learned to work around it.

Sighing, I parted my lips, prompting him to do the same, but he kept them firmly shut, shaking his head back and forth.

My patience thinned.

"What is up with you?" I pulled back, trying to meet his eyes, but he looked away.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You barely let me kiss you for more than a few seconds anymore." His hurt and pained expression calmed me, wracked me with an odd sense of guilt. "If something is going on," I said, more gently, "you can tell me. I just need to be in the know, if it isn't too much to ask."

Something changed in his expression; his eyes hardened and his jaw clenched with determination.

"Get out of the hot tub."

"What? Hazz…I'm sorry."

"Not leave. Just sit on the edge here."

Curious, I followed his instructions and slid so that my feet still dangled but my body was exposed to the chilly night air. My teeth chattered as I watched him drift towards me, between my legs. His large hands roamed up my thighs and to the tops of my swim trunks. My heart stilled. I recognized that look. I'd seen it in the shower, but had been unable to placate it out of ignorance. He was turned on.

My breath hitched as he pulled my swim shorts down, gingerly dropping them beside me on the concrete before studying my hard on. His cheeks were pink, and for all the sexy confidence he exhibited, I kept in mind that this was only his second time giving a blowjob (at least I hoped that's where this was going) and he'd never had any sex before.

Then he dipped his head and flicked his tongue across the head of my cock, and every little wondering I'd had about him evaporated. I tossed back my head, moaning at the sensation. Every time he touched me was enthralling enough, but now this….

"I love that noise," he admitted, cheeks inflamed but his voice so determinedly sexy. "You have no idea."

His tongue shot out again, licking from the base to the head.

"You….tease," I panted. I'd never been so turned on in my life.

"Am not," he protested. "I could make you wait longer….maybe focus on your thighs a little while…"

His mouth moved away from my dick and to the insides of my thighs, where he peppered sweet kisses that did nothing to qualm the storm raging in the pit of my stomach. The sensation was sweet, but I can't be satisfied with little kisses when he was just licking my dick.

I moaned again, twining my fingers in his hair and trying to push him back to my painful erection.

"So impatient," he mused.

Mercifully, he returned his attention to where it belonged and paused thoughtfully.

"Don't jump, okay?"

"Why would I…?"

His tongued wrapped around my dick, something hard rubbing against the sensitive skin in a teasing manner. I jumped exactly as he asked me not to, surprised at the feeling of it, the fire it brought.

"What…is…..that?" I said around ragged gasps of air.

He pulled away again, grinning cheekily, and then stuck his tongue out. He'd gotten his tongue pierced.

"When-"

"When you got my name tattooed on you. I was talking to Serena about piercings you might like and she mentioned that tongue piercings made blowjobs so much more exciting. How does it feel?"

Without waiting for my answer, he ducked again, letting the rod slide on my skin, and oh fuck it was warm metal wet and slick from his spit and I'd never wanted to scream so much in my life.

"Does it feel that good?" he breathed. I hadn't realized the noises I'd been making, so lost in the feeling of his plump lips and tongue and that damn tongue ring.

"Amazing," I groaned, which happened to be an understatement. The last incident Harry's mouth had been around my dick had been enjoyable-don't get me wrong. But now he had a confidence about him, and Harry Styles had gotten a fucking piercing, which made him even more attractive to me-something I hadn't thought possible. And I'd known from Reggie that tongue rings made oral sex far more pleasurable, if you knew how to work with them. Harry knew, whether by instinct or maybe even advice from Reggie himself (I couldn't easily picture that without a laugh) but I didn't care, all I knew was that he had finished teasing.

He took the length of me in his mouth, sliding down and bobbing his head. As he went, the ball of the piecing slid along my skin, and my body erupted into confused shivers. My legs were burning from the water, and my skin was flushed in heated shivers but a cold sweat.

He managed to take all of me in, until my dick hit the back of his throat and he let out a moan of appreciation that had me nearly coming undone. He knew exactly how to flick his tongue against the slit, how to let out these little breaths of air that clung into the night air. Within minutes I was done, glancing once more at his hollowed cheek and sweet dimple before I came without even a warning.

With his eyes closed, his kept his mouth firmly around me, taking in every drop. Impressed, I slid back down into the water and gathered him to me.

"That was fucking amazing," I whispered in his ear, smirking as his own erection rubbed against my leg.

"I practiced on our toothpaste bottle," he whispered back, and we broke into laughter, switching gears from sexy to carefree in an instant. And I thought to myself that this is what love is. Having a million different parts that all clicked and became this overwhelming feeling.

"Well then, I guess it's an appropriate time to say happy birthday."

Harry stiffened.

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew, idiot. I was just letting you have your fun. But I'd like to know why that, on your birthday, you took me out on a mini vacation?"

He shrugged, sheepish.

"I wanted to see you happy, more than anything." Blushing to the roots of his hair, he added, "Because that's what makes me happiest, you know?"

I knew.

Reggie had it wrong. Being a patchwork person did make love dangerous for you, but overall, all those tiny parts worked until love could be felt even more strongly. It's much the same for a man who had never known any type of desert of fine cooking, and then one day an entire five course meal is laid out before him. Yes, other guests will appreciate the taste. But they've known it before. With Harry, I felt something that I'd never known before, that other people dabbled in and smiled at but never entirely appreciated.

And I wouldn't be letting him go anytime soon.

"You look fine, so quit fiddling."

Harry sat on the couch, flipping through the channels while simultaneously checking his phone. Of course he could say that with ease; he'd thrown on a blazer and some jeans and instantly looked better than any man could ever hope for. Me? I had to find something in my tiny section of the closet that didn't scream burnout. Or drug dealer.

"Remind me again why he wants to meet us so bad," I said through clenched teeth. I held up a black blazer of Harry's, considered it, and then rejected it. We didn't need to look like twins or some shit. I needed to look like I could break someone's teeth if they touched him. But I also had to look good.

"Hey you agreed to it," Harry teased. "And besides, he's got some lad he's been chasing around apparently and will be bringing him."

My hand froze over the rack of black jeans near the back. '

"We're going on a double date with your ex-boyfriend?"

Harry chuckled, still so at ease.

"Yes, and I don't see why it's a problem. There aren't any feelings left-"

"On your part," I interrupted.

"-but we were friends for so long before we dated," Harry swept on, though he did seem uncomfortable.

I grumbled vaguely and turned back to the closet. Harry's section had gray blazers and then funky, tye-dyed t-shirts and long v-necks. Things that didn't coincide and some pieces that didn't scream 'hippie', but all the same, when he put them on he was indisputably one.

My half was blacks and red and torn tank tops and jeans with so many ragged holes that more of my skin showed than denim. Harry loved them. The springs of our bed creaked, but I didn't turn. Instead, I let out a little sigh as his hands wound around my waist. I tensed as he folded his arms over the softness of my belly, but he didn't notice.

All these home cooked meals were taking their effect.

"Wear those black skinny jeans that nearly killed me that first day you ate dinner with me and Gemma."

For once, his voice didn't tighten with pain at the mention of his sister.

"Go for all black. This black button down here…"

One of his hands moved away from me to tug at a sleeve of a shirt.

"And you can wear your red bracers and the red Toms Mum bought you a few weeks ago."

"That won't look too…dark?"

"No, it will be sexy and I won't be able to keep my eyes off of you."

That decided it for me. I changed as Harry retreated back to the bed, switching off his telly and then the lava lamp. They were big about conserving energy around here, even going so far as to buy those outrageously expensive recycled light bulbs and having a can next to the trash for all recyclable things.

"We've only got one earth," Harry would say. "We need to take care of her."

There were times were I would honestly forget what a flower child he was, like when he laughed at rude jokes or critiqued the pornos Zayn liked to watch on occasion. Or when he was daring and would ride the big roller-coaster.

But then he would do something unmistakably Harry, like go sit in the garden and meditate or write lyrics in his journal, or talk about karma and good vibes around people. Then again, everyone had a good vibe to Harry. He trusted everyone so completely to be the good person that he was that I couldn't help but to be worried.

But if Harry had dated him, how terrible could Nick be?

It turned out, very terrible.

The night started innocently enough, with a waiter waving us in and then seating us at table draped in red tablecloth in the back of the restaurant. The giant glass windows looked over the beach, where black waves lapped at the shore before shrinking away again, towards the soft moonlight. The lights were dim inside, as if to commemorate the brilliance of the view. The brightest thing we had was a sole candle, flickering against the porcelain plates.

"Well where is he?" I asked, angling my chair close to Harry's. "Is Mr. Perfection late?"

"He isn't usually punctual," Harry said casually, picking up the menu. "Only about certain things."

We spent a few minutes scanning the menu together, Harry stopping the odd waiter and asking which salad was the best, since seafood and steak were the highlights of the meals. He chose a fancy soup and a salad with a price that had my toes curling in my shoes. We didn't order just yet though, as it was 'rude'. I snorted at that, but divulged in his manners.

"What will you be eating?" Harry asked.

"Steak," I answered without a pause. "I want it bloody too. Maybe Nick'll think I'm a vampire."

"Grimmy hated Twilight, so that would certainly make him hate you more."

The casual way Harry tossed out his nickname stung, though I know I wasn't justified in being so hurt and jealous over a relationship that had ended before I even met Harry. But I didn't want to share the only good thing in my life with anyone. Past, present, or future. Maybe I was passing into a possessive phase. But that couldn't be right. I didn't care if Harry had friends or went and saw movies with other people or whatever.

I just didn't want him near ex-boyfriends that wanted him back.

"Harry!" A voice called, and a man that must have been Nick appeared, tugging along a surly teenager behind him.

"Hey Grimmy," Harry replied, smiling politely. "Late as always."

The unnamed teenager let out a pointed cough that had us turning our attention his way. As Harry studied him, something like fear flashed across his face before disappearing.

"You remember Daniel," Nick pressed on, ignoring the tense silence.

"I do remember Daniel," Harry said, with something like an edge to his voice. "And this is Louis, my boyfriend."

Nick turned to me with an unimpressed glance.

"Hello Louis. I've heard a lot about you over this school year. Unfortunately," he added under his breath.

Harry frowned, like he might have heard him, but he didn't comment, instead ushering them to sit down and take a look at the menu and even going to far as to relate the waiter's suggestions to them. Harry, I decided, was too polite for his own good.

Personally, I sat fuming. I'd already pegged this lad up to be immature, the very villain of every teenager drama, but I was rather surprised at how correct I was. One offhanded comment and I already wanted him dead.

Watching him, I could peg something else too. I'm not exactly Sherlock Holmes, but there were signs you recognized after all the years.

After light chatter, Nick pointedly turned to me and asked what I did for a living. As I craned my neck up to meet his eyes, I knew he knew. In much the same way that I could take one look at him and know the same.

"I used to sell drugs, just like you, but now I work in a tattoo shop."

Daniel's fork dropped. Harry reared way from me, wide eyed. Nick hardly flinched, instead appraising me with a new interest.

"How did you guess?"

"How did you guess about me?"

A couple a few tables over shot us a nervous stared before huddling closer over the table, like they could block out the impending storm.

"The eyes," Nick said smoothly. "Nervous, anxious eyes. There's some poor sap waiting in a bar from some crystal meth right now and you could be making money."

His words triggered it, the old itch. Not just to sell, but maybe even to try it, if not to block out his arrogant voice for a second. It's not like I hadn't before-we'd all dabbled in the things we sold at one time or another. But for once I just wanted to take a hit of weed and sleep until all my problems were gone.

As Nick smirked at me, I felt smaller than I ever had. He knew he'd hit a nerve, and all the sassy things I could have said failed me. I was 21 years old and working at a tattoo shop, with no degree and no high school diploma. I'd sold drugs a good chunk of my life. I had nothing to say that I mattered, had left a mark on the world. Harry's eyes were trained on me, I could feel them. He was waiting for the retort as well, surprised in its lateness.

For once, though, I had nothing to say. Because Nick was right. Someone was desperate right now, needing one more hit, one more line of cocaine. They were desperate and deprived and deserved their sense of mind, but I had vanished, had stopped selling them sanity.

"I think we should go," I said eventually. Harry heard the strain in my voice and jumped right up.

"No, I just think we need to zip off to the loo right fast. Louis hasn't been feeling well lately."

"Is it your vegetarian meals that he's been eating? I never could get them to agree with my stomach either," Nick purred. My stomach dropped as Harry actually blushed. Daniel regarded the menu, bored and oblivious.

"We'll be back," Harry said quickly, dragging me away. Inside the loo, he slammed the door shut and locked it. I didn't know what to expect, but as his hands found my face I realized that I had started crying. Not from sadness, but almost panic. God help me, I was having a life crisis in a restaurant.

"Babe," he crooned, kissing at the wet spots on my cheeks. "It's okay. Just breathe. He's wrong. You were always better than that life."

"No," I said raggedly. "You always deserved someone with a better life, but it's not me, is it? You deserve someone handsome with a six pack and…." A little bout of hysterical bubbled in my throat. "But Nick doesn't deserve you. I don't think anyone really does. There are just some more deserving than other."

Harry shook his head through my little speech, kissing down my neck and at the fresh tears. Damn, why was I crying? Had Nick seen it and known how weak I was, how much he'd gotten under my skin?

It felt like all I'd done since I met Harry was fuck up then cry about it.

"Nick was worse than you," Harry said softly, voice muffled by my skin. "He didn't just sell, but he took them for himself. All the time, not just every now and again. I hated it when he came in stinking of weed or when he would snort a line of coke on my dresser before we could go out. The sad thing is, I know drugs are addictive and can kill and it's the point where I should have gotten out of the relationship. But his drinking was worse. So much worse…he'd hit and scream, tell me how stupid I was. All the lads made me promise…."

His nose rubbed against my own as his lips moved across my face, still reassuring me when I should have been the one comforting him.

"Promise what?"

"That I'd never be with someone like that, a person that would smash a vase over my face and would kick me back into consciousness wanting to know where I was taking him for dinner."

Every muscle in my body screamed as I lurched away from him. No. Harry was far too young to have dealt with something like that…too innocent and good.

He smiled in a way that didn't touch his eyes as he took in my expression.

"Mum never approved. We had a fight about him and I packed up my things and moved out. To live with my boyfriend of just a year."

I didn't mention that we didn't even have seven months and I was living with him, but hey, I'd never attacked him with a vase. Just thinking about it had my blood bubbling, my fingers twitching and wanted to curl into a fist so that I could beat a new shape into Nick's face.

"I livened up," he said lightly. "Got out after the vase incident. Nick's uncle shipped him off to rehab and he came back so lively and sorry and good that it was so hard not to fall back into the relationship. I was supposed to be meeting him that night that I met you, but something felt wrong. I told him I changed my mind, didn't want to talk things through. He agreed, said he had some figuring out to do, and then left."

He let out a humorless laugh.

"But he's left his mark, that's for sure. I just can't bear to fix it. It reminds me why I shouldn't ever fall into that sort of thing again."

"Mark?" I asked, skimming his skin for any sign of something.

Then, he opened his mouth and tapped at his tooth. The chipped one.

"The vase incident?" I asked softly.

"They had to fish glass out of my mouth," Harry said with a forced smile. "They said I swallowed the chunk of my tooth, but it could be fixed. I looked at it that night I met you, thought about how you'd shown up wanting to sell but had this gentle way about you. Like you were a tough dog with no bite. I wondered what you were doing on the streets as young as he was, if you'd ever hurt anyone. I didn't know, but wanting to know kept me away from Nick."

"Then how could you come here tonight and not hate him?" I demanded. The absurdity of it all had my stomach twisting into knots. "How can you look at him and be calm?!"

"I forgive him," Harry said, with the same infuriating calm I'd just mentioned. "And I forgive Daniel for giving him his first joint, for being the one to suggest they start selling. But I don't forgive them in the way I forgave you."

I took a deep breath in through my nose and weighed my options. I could run back to our table and punch Nick in the face, or I could live up to the person Harry deserved and be mature. Well, mature by my own terms.

"Let's crawl through that window there and leave," I suggested, nodding the window perched over sink.

"Where do you want to go?" Harry replied readily.

"I'm feeling McDonald's."

"Deal."

When we arrived home, Liam was sat on the couch, hands folded and his teeth worrying over his lip. At the sight of us, he let out a relieved sigh and stood to stretch.

"All go well?"

"Yeah. Louis knows. Wanted to go back a break a plate over Nick's head, I could tell." Harry bumped his hip against mine, though with the height difference he bumped more into my side.

"I wish he would have," Liam said with sincerity. "But I'm glad he didn't. Violence is never the answer."

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I took Harry's hand and tugged him towards our room.

"It's definitely the answer in several situations."

The next couple of months wore on, and Harry became more and more focused on his studies as the school year wrapped up. Nick didn't speak to him, or mention the awkward and certainly failed double date. We saw him when we were shopping every now and then, and he sent this smirk towards me like he knew that I'd fail Harry eventually. I hated that he dug right to the root of my deepest fear and threw it in my face every time we crossed paths. Liam and Niall were the talk of our circle, but the happy couple didn't much speak of the plans. When the subject arose, they would agree on whatever idea was mentioned and then carefully but pointedly change the subject.

Reggie and Harvey were in and out, talking of Uni and what they could do with their lives. A door had been opened for us all, but we'd not quite yet crossed the threshold.

Harry and I kept to ourselves, often hiding in his room and turning on the loudest and most obscene action movies we owned when Niall and Liam had an infamous fight. No matter how hard they fought, though, they managed to spring back to their mushy selves. For a day or two, at the least.

For what felt like the longest time, nothing occurred. We kept Gemma's grave tidy, kept in touch with Luca's family, to see how they were still coping, and visited Anne. I progressed to some tattooing at the shop, but art had always been Zayn's thing. Instead of committing myself like Harry encouraged, I began visiting the library and reading old plays, until Harry caught me one day and bought me both a library card and a gift card for an online shopping site mainly for books in all their shapes and forms. I bought Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde and began studying the importance of telling a whole story with nearly nothing but dialogue. The concept fascinated me, in the way that no one ever wanted to hear what people had to say unless you had a story. Then they wanted every word you could spare.

People had so much to say, but they chose not to, and that bothered me more than fascinated me.

I began reading the words softly to myself, long after Harry started snoring around three in the morning. I'd always had a faint interest in acting, but now the characters pulled at me. On my worst days, when Zayn would text me and mention a funny drug run, I wished I was anyone else besides Louis Tomlinson, ex-drug dealer. I wanted to be a character from a lost time, anyone but me.

But then Harry would mumble in his sleep, sometimes even saying my name, and I regretted ever thinking about being anyone but Louis Tomlinson, Harry's boyfriend.

Harry's enthusiasm over my tattooing leaked over into my interests in theatre a few weeks after I purchased my new books. He'd listen to my monologues and applaud, and as much as I felt like a child performing for an exhausted parent, I lapped up his attention and knew that even if he was the only one ever clapping for me, I'd be okay. I'd finally found something that clicked with me.

A couple of days before prom, as I listened to Harry sing in the shower-Adele's 'Set Fire to the Rain'- Liam's phone began to ring. He tended to ignore it, but today he and Niall had fought and I figured he'd be eager to see his fiancé apologize and offer to bring home dinner so that none of us had to cook.

When he answered, however, his entire face changed. It softened and his eyes filled with this warmth that, admittedly, surprised me. Even on their best days, he and Niall never made each other look so…content.

Then my stomach dropped when Liam replied to the voice on the other line.

"I'm fine Zayn, really. How are you getting on? America nice this time of year?"

I heard the water shut off, so I took my cue to leave, bowing away as Liam let out a soft laugh and agreed to whatever Zayn had to say about the weather.

In our room, Harry stood near the dresser, his towel clutching at his hip bones desperately.

"Who's Liam talking to?" he asked, pulling out one of my faded rock shirts and sliding it on.

"Zayn," I answered. I was disappointed that the taut muscles of his back were stolen from my view.

"Zayn?" He tipped his head, confused, as he pulled out a pair of soft gray sweat pants. "Wasn't he supposed to be coming back to see us off for prom?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think he'd make it." I sighed and fell onto the bed, involuntarily wincing at the squeak of the springs. "And we need a new bed soon…"

"We can't afford a new bed as well as the prom night fun and the hotel room."

"I know babe it's just-wait, hotel room?"

I gaped at him, for what else would we possibly be doing with a hotel room, but he merely winked and ducked out of the room. A moment later I heard him shuffling through the cabinets, maybe surrendering to the fact that one of us would have to cook.

I watched the sun's dying rays catch on the walls, watched the shadows lengthen around my feet. In this duration of time, I listened to Liam giggling at Zayn on the phone, listened to the oven beeping and Harry humming. And all that while my mind turned the words over. Hotel room. Harry and I slept in the same bed every night, so there wasn't a particular reason to make an occasion of it….unless of course the obvious came into play; Harry booked a hotel room for privacy….for certain things.

Or I might be entirely wrong and have too much wishful thinking on my part.

When he sauntered back into the room to tell me he'd finished dinner, I couldn't contain myself any longer.

"Why'd you get us a hotel room?" I blurted out.

He froze in the doorway, swallowed, and spoke around the heavy blush on his cheeks.

"God, use your imagination, Lou."

Face now flaming, he turned on heel and headed back to the kitchen. I followed with a goofy grin, the kind that just sits on your face until your muscles are begging you to calm the fuck down. I loved Harry like this, when he was so confident and cheeky one second and then bashful the next.

At the table, Liam's smile had turned into a faint pout. The chair beside him, usually occupied by Niall, remained empty.

"What did Zayn have to say?" Harry asked conversationally as he served dinner. All that he lacked was an apron. Maybe I should get him one. A pink frilly one with bows and hearts….

"He's not going to make it for another week," Liam said stiffly. His anger towards Niall had shrunk into some kind of sadness involving Zayn. I felt a sick twist in my stomach at the thought. Liam's obvious feelings for my best friends were going to end badly. I knew it as if some god had stepped down from heaven and told me over a bottle of scotch. But I kept my mouth shut and nodded sympathetically.

"It's okay," Harry said. "Lou and I are getting a hotel room after prom, so you and Niall can have the house. Or if you'd prefer to try somewhere new….get a hotel away from ours."

"I don't think Niall wants to go anywhere with me," Liam muttered darkly. That effectively exhausted all our desire to continue a conversation involving relationships. Although I ached to ask Harry if he really was ready, if he'd buy the stuff or would I? Would he want to keep it simple for our first time, or try something sweet but not too adventurous?

I doubted Liam wanted to hear those questions though, and less so the answers, so I kept my mind away from the taunting topic and ate my dinner. As Harry and I washed dishes together, Niall stumbled through the front door, reeking of booze and holding a half drunken bottle of whiskey in his hand. He met Liam in living room, where, after a brief argument, they kissed and Niall cried into Liam's shoulder. Though he held Niall close, Liam stared off into the distance, straight over the top of his boyfriend's head.

As if he weren't even there.

Harry cared a lot more for prom tradition than he let on. He refused to let me see him before the limo arrived, letting Liam help him instead. Niall and I lounged around his and Liam's master bedroom. Niall was excited, but not as much as Liam, which struck me as funny as this was technically Niall's prom and not his fiancé's. Around the 30 minutes before we were meant to leave, I decided to get ready. My plan from the start had been to slip into my tux, spray some gunk into my hair, and get going. But then Niall mentioned pictures. And how Harry was in the line for Prom King. Oh and that we'd be eating with a big group of people, including Nick.

"How did Nick get in on this?" I nearly screamed.

"Technically as a chaperone," Niall replied, taken aback by my anger. "But he's taking this one girl to dinner with us because everyone knows Grimmy and wanted to catch up outside of class."

Then, my mind went into overdrive. Thank God I'd let Liam pick out my tux. It was tailored to perfection, since renting a tux wasn't classy enough. He'd been generous enough to ask for suspenders as well, to keep my style alive. But I had to look my best. I disappeared into the bathroom, wincing at the overbearing fluorescents. I studied myself in the mirror and tried to imagine how Harry's friends would see me.

I flinched at the thought. They wouldn't think much, and they sure as hell wouldn't think I deserved Harry. I pulled out a little cup from under the sink. I'd seen Liam use it for a quick drink of water and such, but maybe he wouldn't mind me using it.

One by one, I pulled my piercings out.

I wasn't changing myself. Just trying to look a little nicer, a teeny bit more approachable. That couldn't be wrong, could it? It was the same concept as wearing sweatpants to a fancy dinner, really. I just needed to be a little more presentable. It wasn't as if the holes would grow up, either. I'd had all my piercing for far too long.

After the rings were gone, I decided to leave my gages. They would look better in than out, really. And they were small enough that they didn't look indecent. Probing my tongue along the inside of my lip, I felt the absence with a pang. How long had it been since I'd taken them out? Only long enough to clean them, but did that really count?

Next, I studied my face. Liam had a concealer in his room, for his awful acne he got when he became stressed about bills, he told us without any trace of embarrassment.

Gingerly, I opened it and ran my finger over it, coming away with a thick coat. Then, I smeared it on the shadows beneath my eyes. I never understood why they never went away. I couldn't blame the faint drug use, or the sleepless nights. I'd had them all my life. True, it had become worse over the years, intensified by lonely nights and the times where depressions sunk in and I no longer had the energy to care for myself. But they had always been there, dark enough that some accused me of wearing makeup.

Wrong, I wanted to say. But I couldn't teach common sense, and I couldn't stand and preach about judging before knowing. I would have stood there all year.

Without my shadows, my eyes seemed brighter, but smaller somehow. Ignoring it, I dabbed a little more of the concealer on the holes under my lips and over my eyebrow. My face looked so young and fresh, I doubted anyone would recognize me. Or maybe it was all in my head that once again I was the only who ever looked close enough to see anything different. Besides Harry that is. Harry understood everything, pointed out so much about me that I never even thought of.

I slicked my hair back, away from my face. The usual, windswept disarray fought back, and I had to send a thanks to whatever supernatural being may be listening that Zayn had left a decent stock of hairspray during his time here.

Once I had made myself decent, I shaved and sprayed cologne. Niall and I had taken showers before settling down and playing fifa. Separate showers, of course. The cologne, however, topped it off nicely.

I slid into the tux, abandoning my original idea to wear my black toms with the suit and instead slipping on a pair of dress shoes from Liam's closet. Niall raised his eyebrows as I stepped out, looking me up and down.

"Damn, mate. Harry's going to shit a brick. Say, it's five minutes until the limo gets here. Should I get ready?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Probably. Well, I mean, if you're up to it. You might be able to procrastinate a little longer."

While he whistled and wiggled out of his gym shorts, I studied myself in the mirror and patted at my hair. It felt a little stiff, but I think I liked it. The bones of my face were sharper than I'd thought, my eyes a little brighter.

My phone buzzed, signaling a new message from Harry.

_**Bring a change of comfy clothes-preferably of the pajama variety. : ) xxx. **_

I smiled to myself. We'd never discussed the hotel room in further detail, but I'd taken the liberty to get a condom and this chocolate flavored lube I'd found. It was tame, not enough to frighten him off for the first go. That's all I had been able to think about, really. Our first time. Maybe I was acting too cheesy, and I could never tell Reggie or Harvey without them howling with laughter, but I was more excited about having sex with Harry than I'd ever been about anything. I know that was silly, that I'd done it so many times with other people and it should seem mundane. But I loved Harry. I'd never even had sex with someone I knew for longer than a week.

This, in my mind, counted as my first time as well as his. It was the first time it mattered.

I felt a spark of nerves, but took a steady breath as Niall skipped out of the bathroom, suit slightly rumpled and his hair untouched and still messy from air-drying.

"Let's get outside. Let Liam and Harry have their lovely walk down the stairs for us."

I agreed, mumbling over the sound of my heart pounding. This all happened to be so ridiculous I was embarrassed for myself, but I couldn't control the burning in me. We were so close to another milestone. We were moving around so much in this relationship, hurdling obstacles most didn't know and such, and each time we got further my life felt more and more settled.

Outside, the limo had pulled up to the curb. We were the first to be picked up, so the chauffeur stood nearby with his hands folded behind his back. We smiled and chatted with him a bit until Liam and Harry finally urged the door open and pranced down the steps. And I do mean prance, for there wasn't really many ways to describe that certain cocky, head held high walk that they sported.

Once Harry's fell on me, however, he stopped, foot frozen over the second step. The urge to pat at my hair was overwhelming, but I kept my hands clasped in front of me, watching and waiting for a proper reaction. He was the epitome of perfection of course, he curls swept high and his lips redder than usual, like he'd maybe been biting at them like he always did when nervous or thoughtful. There were a few rings on his fingers, and his black suit was sharp and fitted to him perfectly. The length of his legs nearly had me panting. Of course, the look wouldn't have been complete without a small, delicate string of red rose buds around his hair. A miniature flower crown. While all this cycled through my mind, Liam had continued his prance over to Niall.

Kissing his cheek, he asked, "Babe, did you even brush your hair?"

Niall frowned, as if truly pondering the question.

"I must have forgotten. Damn. D'ya think it matters?"

"No, you look perfect," Liam admonished. Their smiles were easy, lacking the recent tension. For that, I was grateful. I would hate to arrive home tomorrow in a haze of happiness only to have to deal with another petty problem. Okay, that's selfish. But it got old, really.

Harry met me halfway, taking my hand shyly and looking me up and down. Of course, he had to lean away to achieve this.

"You look….God I don't even know. I didn't think you cleaned up so well."

I struggled not to blush like a girl while I returned his sweet compliments.

"You are amazing as well. The rings are a rather sexy touch."

He laughed nervously at my posh voice, but any further conversation was stunted as Liam rushed us into the limo so that we could meet with a few girls going stag. Niall and Harry knew them from history class, and got along with them well enough. From what I understood, they were beautiful and popular, but wanted to spend their last chunk of their school career with their friends instead of with boys. I didn't quite understand it, but Niall murmured to me that the school was filled with the obnoxious boys that had about two brain cells and did their best to drown out rational thoughts with beer.

As they tumbled in a few minutes later, giggling and not bothering to cling to their short dresses-what would four gay guys care about their underwear for anyway-I smiled and introduced myself. They all reacted naturally enough, not even lingering over the tattoos that still hung in view.

Jade, the tiny one with black and blue hair gave me a once over before commenting on how I looked dangerous and that she just _loved_ bad boys.

Harry scowled at her, but Jesy, who had this insanely thick mane of red hair, laughed.

"She's not trying to steal him, Harry."

The other two were Leigh Anne, a pretty girl with dark skin and a good run of comedic commentary about the scenery and pedestrians that had us cracking up, and Perrie, who could pull of the most amazingly stupid faces. Harry did his best to mimic them on the ride to pick up Grimmy and a girl named Eleanor, but he couldn't twist he lips just so, or his eyes wouldn't cross all the way.

"Just keep practicing," Perrie encouraged. "You'll get it with time, I promise!"

I decided I liked them five minutes into the ride, when Jesy and Leigh Anne showed off their tattoos and Jade and Perrie recounted a time where they tried to dye each other's hair and it went terribly wrong. Perrie ended up with lavender hair and Jade's hair turned a patchy green.

"The lavender actually worked for ya," Niall commented. "I remember the teachers hated it though!"

"Oh she rocked it," Jade agreed. "But that green was such a no go. I thought I'd have to shave my head!"

"Don't be melodramatic." Jesy rolled her eyes. The girls all perked up as the limo slowed to stop, and the driver clambered out. Harry took my hand.

"Be nice, oaky? He's apologized, and I don't want anything to spoil this night."

"Okay," I mumbled. Deep down, I doubted Nick could be sorry for much. His face was far too smug when I stood and stormed to the bathroom.

As Nick slid into the limo, all slick and easy smiles, he turned his attention without fail to Harry, asking about his day, complimenting his suit and entirely ignoring his date. The girl, Eleanor had pretty chestnut hair and big eyes. Although I'm sure everyone knew Nick had a leaning preference towards men, something about her expression still read as hurt. I reckoned she might have expected something to come out of the night, and I instantly felt sorry for her.

"I'm Louis."

She gave a tentative smile.

"Eleanor."

"I'm ready for the food, wouldn't you agree?"

Niall sprang up from the window seat, pumping his fist in the air.

"Hell yeah!"

Liam shook his head, half-amused and half-annoyed, but thankfully he didn't ponder too long on his annoyance. The last thing we needed tonight was another fight between the two. And nothing could ruin mine and Harry's night. Not even Nick, with all his flirting just inches away from me. On the way to the Italian place, Harry kept his hand on my knee, squeezing and comforting, but I ignored him and chatted with Eleanor.

Okay, it was all a little immature of us, but it was so stupid that he forgive Nick. But then again, Harry forgave me for things far more terrible. I had technically killed someone. When we pulled up to the restaurant, Harry let everyone slid out around him.

"I just have to talk to Louis for a moment," he explained when Liam stared questioningly. Nick's face lit up with what I swear was hope, but I couldn't tell before the door was shut, leaving Harry and I alone. The driver had already departed, to wait inside for us.

"Don't be jealous," Harry said without preamble, turning to me with an intense glare. "Nick doesn't mean shit, and you know it. There's no need to flirt with Eleanor just because I'm being friendly."

"A little too friendly," I muttered.

Harry rolled his eyes and slid closer to me, something shadowing his eyes.

"I can't control what he does. But you can control your flirting with certain girls."

"Oh don't be so drama-"

I was cut off as he dived for me, pressing his lips to mine almost painfully, sliding his tongue into my mouth. I groaned at the sensation, at how I could never quite get used to how amazing his tongue ring felt inside my mouth. Before I could even consider pulling away, his hands were sliding up my thighs, palming at me and nearly tearing me apart from the inside.

"You're mine," he growled. The new side of him, this possessive, nearly animalistic side, nearly had me breathless with desire. I didn't know if I could hold out for the rest of the night.

"You know I am," I agreed.

Strangely, in that moment, it clicked in my mind that I had not yet touched Harry. He'd been the one to try the handjobs and the blowjobs, and I let him because he was inexperienced (though it never felt like it) and I thought it nice of him to learn. I was happy to be his practice dummy. But touching him was different. I never wanted to scare him off, make him feel uncomfortable.

I should have sooner, though, for the second I reached out and slide my hands up his thighs, he let out the most delicious moan that I swallowed into our kiss, rolling it on my tongue.

God.

I wanted to stay there, maybe skip dinner and the dance and just stay in our private bubble, but he pulled away, chuckling.

"We need to get inside, boo. I'm pretty hungry as well. To be continued, right?"

"Of course," I mumbled.

I followed him out, rushing ahead to open the door for him. At the table, Nick was certainly disappointed that Harry and I had returned in such good spirits. Perhaps he thought we were going to fight and break it off in the limo. I don't know, really, but as I sat next to Harry I felt so on top of the world that even Nick's petty flirting hardly bothered me. The girls had me cracking up, making the same faces and shamelessly flirting with the waiters, who flirted back with much gusto. Niall cleaned a plate of ribs, dribbling a little sauce on the cuff of his white sleeve.

Liam watched, exasperated, but didn't comment.

After we ate, we piled back in and headed towards the dance. I did my best to stick to Harry, since I knew next to no one besides the people who had ridden in the limo with us. Harry couldn't dance to save his life, really, but every time a slow song came on he pressed close against me, placing his chin on top of my hair and sighing with content. It felt silly and maybe too vulnerable, but I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his musky, flowery scent.

Liam's moves surprised me. The lad was actually quite gifted with his feet.

Around eleven, a surprise stopped by. I was dancing in a group with Liam when someone snuck up and pressed their fingers into my sides playfully.

"Zayn!"

And there he was, strangely taller but also thinner and more ragged. His appearance surpassed scruffy, but he'd fished out some dress pants and white button down from somewhere and every girl nearby had their jaw to the floor at the sight of them. Even though the dark under his eyes had me on edge, I had to admit he looked great.

"Hey Boobear," he said in a sultry, teasing voice. "Where's Hazza?"

I stopped and turned my head to find him with Perrie and Jade, who were trying to teach him a dance step that proved maybe a little too complicated for him.

"I see….." his eyes flickered past me, over my shoulder. "Hello Liam."

Liam stepped up by my side, eyes fixated on Zayn's face.

"I didn't think you were going to make it today."

Zayn shrugged, nonchalant as he'd ever been towards Liam.

"Well…Parker wanted to head back for a mini vacation. I think we'll be here for about two weeks, sounds good yeah?"

There are moments that mark your life so definitely it's as if they've been tattooed onto your memory. When Zayn mentioned staying for a couple of weeks, a cold, forbidding shiver shot down my spine. I would give anything to take it back and tell myself to hide away in mine and Harry's room, to not let anyone see us.

But some things are meant to happen, I suppose. Some things are never meant to be.

"That'll be nice," Liam said eagerly. "Will you be staying with us again?"

"Nah." Zayn swiped at nonexistent dirt on his collar. "Me, Parker, and William got a place. Sleeping with some old friends." As he registered Liam's expression, he smirked. "Not literally."

The same man I'd seen in Eddington, Parker, slide up beside Zayn and whispered something in his ear. Coldly, he turned to Liam and then settled his intense glare on me. Something dark shifted in his eyes before he slunk away, weaving around the groups of dancing teenagers.

"He's fucking creepy," Liam blurted out into the silence.

"No he's not," Zayn scoffed. "He's great, that's all. I honestly don't know what I'd do without him, ya know?"

Liam sputtered in disbelief, and even I could see the flush of jealousy across his face. Zayn may have planned it all, sliding in so carelessly and then mentioning Parker like that, but as cold and off as I'm sure he wanted to be, he didn't have the heart to let Liam go on like that.

"We aren't dating, spazz. I'm not ever going to date."

The conversation slipped out of my control at that moment, and my part in it abruptly expired.

"Why not?" Liam asked softly, just as an upbeat, pop song began to play.

Damn, where was Harry? For fuck's sake I didn't want to be in the chick flick moment.

If he truly loved me, he needed to swoop in and help me out of this situation.

"I think you only fall in love once, ya know?"

Liam made a noise of soft disbelief, but then noticed how intensely Zayn watched him. I took my cue to leave. I danced with Harry again, doing my best not to be nosy, though I couldn't help but to stare when Niall stormed towards Liam and Zayn promptly vanished.

"This won't end well," Harry mumbled in my ear.

It wouldn't, but I didn't voice my agreement. As if there was even a point in doing so.

Just as the dance wound to a close, Harry and Jesy were crowned prom King and Queen. Everyone clapped, Perrie, Jade, and Leigh Anne loudest of all. They catcalled and screamed for their best friend. I stood with crossed arms, smiling as Harry ducked so that the principal could reach his head and place the crown just over his flowers.

The crown was gold and studded with red gems, matching the tiara's intricate swirls and red stoned tiara.

They did the obligatory slow dance and then broke apart, Jesy skipping into the arms of Jade while Harry jogged to me.

"This is the best night I could hope for!" he proclaimed, throwing himself into me.

And it was only going to get better.

Late that night, the limo dropped Harry and I off at a fancy, five star hotel and then headed to the next stop, which did not include Niall and Liam. The two had some sort of blow out just before we left and Niall left with a group of friends. Jade, Perrie, Leigh Anne, and Jesy invited Liam to stay with them, so he didn't have to go home alone.

I expected something to happen the second I knew Zayn had made it back, but I wanted him here anyhow. Even if he brought bad feelings between two of my other friends. The thought was so incredibly selfish, but I didn't have the good grace to care.

A tense silence settled between Harry and myself as we stepped into our room. I went and sat on the bed, toeing off my shoes and waiting for his confirmation. He hovered near the door, face scarlet.

"Are you nervous?"

When my question received nothing but silence, I could guess the answer. I watched him move around the room, messing with the curtains, shutting the bathroom door, as if he were afraid someone were waiting in the wings to watch us. For a heartbeat, I was terrified with the notion that he might actually be ashamed.

"We don't have to do this, Hazza. We can wait as long as you want…"

With a steadying breath, he took off his prom king crown and began to inch forward, tentatively stepping between my legs. Over time, it had almost become our thing. There was something so intimate and personal about the position, and even though it could go from sweet to sexual in a flash, I couldn't see it in such a black and white way. The point in it all was that Harry had himself so close to me, so achingly close.

"I want to," Harry breathed. "I want you to be the first and the last."

Before I could reply, he swooped down and kissed me, parting his lips and sighing lightly into my mouth. We started out so sweet and gentle, like it might be any other time where we were bored and started making out. Then his hands slid under my jacket, pulling it off.

Separating momentarily, he kicked off his shoes and socks. I took the time to slide my suspenders off and laugh as he stumbled back towards me. I opened my arms for him, perfectly in synch with his dive for me. We kissed and tangled ourselves together, twisting until we were in the center of the bed. How much Harry had paid for such a hotel, I had no clue, but we were entwined in a California king bed with silk sheets and a downy comforter, and all I could think about was how poor it felt compared to the rough friction of his skin on mine.

My shirt went next, my lust driving me past my insecurities. Harry took his cue and fumbled with the buttons of his own before sighing in defeat. While I worked at them myself, he kissed at my neck, biting and sucking in that familiar way. The boy had probably never given a love bite in his life before out time together, but I quickly discovered that once Harry's hormones kicked in, his actions were anything but inexperienced.

Our moans mingled in the quite air, soft and gentle. After I'd removed Harry's shirt, I rolled away and pulled a condom and a packet of the lube out of my pocket. I'd tucked it down as far as possible-the last thing I needed was to be dancing at prom and have it fall out. Harry's eyes widened briefly as he took the foil package in, but then he set his jaw and I knew he'd really made his mind up.

"You're sure?" I asked, just one last time to be safe.

He nodded, and I set to work on his pants. We'd shut the curtains, the bathroom door, had shut away any rational thoughts. There was nothing in that moment but our skin pressed together, the soft yet insisted press of his lips at my neck and I grasped at his hips. I knew he'd never been modest about his body, but once we'd discarded everything, once we were entirely free of clothing, I swear he blushed. I didn't even have the mind to be insecure about everything I'd always hated about myself; my mind was too preoccupied with the v-lines of his abs, the impressive, taut muscles that years of yoga and running had given him. And his cock….I swear my mouth watered at the sight of it, large and hard and weeping with pre-cum.

"Are you just going to stare?"

The first strains of discomfort leaked into his voice, so I cleared my throat and reached for the condom.

"Why do you have to wear it?" Harry asked. I nearly laughed at the fact that he wanted to make conversation for our first time.

"Because I've been with too many people I don't love and I never want you to hurt because of it."

I kissed him tenderly before I trailed my way down his neck, his abs….

A whimper escaped from his lips as I touched my lips to his cock, licked a line from the base to the head before sealing my lips around it and giving a soft suck. His fingers tangled in my hair with slight difficulty-maybe I'd gone overboard with the hairspray-but I forgot it all as he pushed my head down further, spread his legs a little more.

"Why didn't we do this sooner?" he groaned. If the sounds he was making became any louder, he might just wake up Niall in the dog house.

He lifted his legs a little, pressing them to me, keeping me there. The sliding of his legs against my shoulders had me shaking. It had never been this good, this simple for me to fall apart. There were many moments in mine and Harry's relationship in which I knew I was gone for him, but this trumped it all.

Out of all the people, the skilled people, who had touched me, made me scream in pleasure, it didn't compare to the feeling of all-encompassing desire Harry bound me with in a single touch.

One look for me to fall for him, one conversation for me to want to defend him, protect him for the people who couldn't understand how precious he truly was.

And I hoped it would only take one time for him to understand all this.

I caressed all of him that I could reach, my fingers skimming over sinewy muscle, the sinful dips of his abs, and I kept my tongue moving, so greedy for the feeling of him. He filled my mouth in the dirtiest, best way. I'd known Harry had been blessed in so many senses, but I didn't imagine that this could be one of them.

I hollowed my cheeks, taking as much of him as I could.

"Why have I been doing it this whole time?" Harry whined from somewhere that felt so close, right near my ear, whispering over the caverns of my mind. "Fuck, Louis…I…"

He trailed off, maybe because he didn't want to pursue the thought or even better he had been unable to.

I could hear him alternatively clutching at the sheets, tossing his head while he strained his hips up to meet my mouth. The kid was completely undone, and I'd barely touched him.

It seemed, to my immense disbelief and joy, that I drove Harry just as crazy as he drove me.

I pulled off with the softest _pop_ not wanting him to come just yet but so hating to leave him without attendance. Yet I wanted to see that moment, remember it, have it when I needed something to make me smile and remember just how crazy he drove me.

I leaned away, admiring the mess I'd made. He'd tossed his head to the side, burying himself in the folds of the sheet. There were beads of sweat on his pink cheeks, a dent on his bottom lip that his teeth had begun to worry at.

"No," he protested weakly. He must have been so close, too. "Do it again. Please-"

"You don't want to come so soon," I reprimanded. "Wait until I'm inside you…."

My words had him writhing as I leaned over him and reached for the lube on the nightstand. His eyes watched me, pupils blown wide with lust and delicate pants escaping from his lips. The flowers framing his face were a little crushed from his frantic movements, but I'd never seen him look better.

"And what's that for?"

If any other partner had asked me this, they would have driven me mad with their sex Q&A. But it was Harry, and he'd never experienced before, and I wanted him to know everything he could so that next time could be nothing but a flurry of clothes and a few pushes before I was buried in him like I wanted to be right then.

"I have to get you stretched out, love. It won't feel any good at all if I don't."

At the words 'stretched out' he made a face, but didn't protest as I placed my hands on his thighs and spread his legs even further. The whisper they made over the sheets had me shivering.

"Just relax. Let me take care of you for once, okay?"

He obliged, close his eyes and letting his curls splay across the pillow. The image had me so aroused that I turned my attention immediately to the sight of his hole. I'd have to be so careful not to hurt him. How long I had to take didn't matter, though. We could take all the time in the world if we needed to.

Carefully, I pressed one finger in, freezing as he made soft, mewling noises and tensed around me.

"You have to relax, babe. For me."

It took time, and a great deal of patience, but he eventually relaxed enough and allowed a second finger, this time adapting faster. I could read it on his face, where his nerves came unraveled and he began to feel the pleasure. I had known it with strangers. With someone you truly loved, it was bypassing nirvana.

His back arched off the bed as he pressed down, closer to my fingers.

"That feels so good…."

Pleased with the progress, I added one more, spreading my fingers slightly and feeling the pleasure engulf me at our level of nearness. The sheets twisted around him, the sweat gathered on his forehead. I'd never seen a more beautiful disarray, and we weren't even finished.

"No more," he panted, fingers curling in the sheets. "I just want you inside of me now, or I'll die babe I swear…."

As if I could say no to that. I picked up the condom, rolled it on with a practiced skill, and hovered over him. Our eyes met and he gave this little nod. I didn't hesitate. With as much restraint as I could muster, I pressed inside of him, reveling in the way his eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. His hands moved to my back, fingernails digging little half-moons into my sweat slicked skin. Sex had never been so slow, so delicate to me before. Sex had never been making love for me. This was so new, and the drawn out sensations made me feel as if I'd simply done it wrong my entire life.

I continued pressing in, until I was fully sheathed inside of him and I could feel the faint puckering of a scratch from my back from where he'd drug his fingernails.

"Are you okay?" I gasped. A fair enough question, seeing as I wasn't. The tightness of him consumed me, set every particle of my being on fire as if the kisses we'd exchanged had been gasoline and our friction had lit the match. I wanted to move so badly, to press as deep as I could into him until he screamed my name. I wanted us to be one in a moment intense enough that Harry would never even need to compare anything to this moment.

"Move," he gasped, clutching at my back again.

So I did, pulling out, drinking in the sounds cascading from his lips, and I thrust back in, picking up a little speed.

"Faster," he growled, so hungry and desperate and undone. Every bit of his peace and patience were shattered and I loved him.

His fingernails pressed harder into me, so deep they might have intended to leave dents on my spine. He could, I was sure. He'd left his marks all over my life, all over my mind. Surely he could do the same with my physical being.

I picked up a rhythm that had him doing exactly as I wanted.

"Louis!" he nearly sobbed. Hearing his voice so fragile, so thick with need, I nearly screamed myself. Our rhythm increased, until he moved as well, rising his hips to meet me and biting into my neck to stifle the desperate cries of my name.

It was a shame to have the beautiful sound cut off, but I could trade it for the way he devoured my neck in hungry kisses.

"I think I'm going to come," he gasped, and heartbeat later he did. The thick white spread over his chest and mine, and he fell back with a sob. Just seeing the sight of him, so utterly beautiful and spent and covered with his want for me had me undone as well. I came inside him, screaming his name a little louder than I thought I could before I collapsed against him.

Reflexively, his arms slid around me, gathering me into him. We ignored the sticky mess on us and simply lay there in each other's arms for a moment. I regarded him from my viewpoint, how drunk and satisfied he looked, how the flowers were crushed in his hair and a few petals framed the space around him. The sweat gave his body a luminescent shine, and I never thought sex could be so damn gorgeous.

"Will it be like that every time?" Harry asked, his lips at my hair.

"No, babe." I nearly laughed as he tensed up. "It's always rougher the first time, but once our bodies know each other better, we can practice and find sweet spots and work out what makes the other feel best."

"So it gets better?" Harry asked with such naïve disbelief that I had to laugh.

"It will. But I have to admit that this time was rather spectacular."

Harry squeezed his arms around me tighter in wordless agreement. Again, we lapsed into silence before I decided I might as well get cleaned up. I moved to sit up, but his protest had me surrendering.

"Don't go. I like this...us cuddling….you still inside me…"

I actually hadn't registered that fact that I'd yet to pull out of him; I'd been so absorbed in the simple sweetness of his kisses and the fact that Harry and I had actually had sex.

"I have to go," I laughed. "I need a shower rather badly. You do as well, Giraffe. I mean, not to be obvious here but you're covered in jizz."

As if the thought had not yet occurred to him, his eyes widened and he looked down at himself.

"You're right. Can I join you in the shower?"

My mind flashed without warning to the first time he'd shown his lustful side, on the anniversary of my sister's deaths. How he'd attacked me in the shower, taking my dick in those pretty red lips without so much as batting an eyelash…

"Yeah, guess it won't do any harm," I agreed casually. With a sly smile he slid out of my embrace and stood to stretch. I could have gone for another round right then and there.

The next day, after a shameless few more rounds, a few hours of trash tv, and snuggling on the hotel couch, we headed home and back to reality. Upon entering the house, you'd never think that much had happened. Zayn and Parker sat on the couch, whispering, but Zayn had always been a quieter fellow when company was scarce. Parker's eyes flashed to my face, completely bypassing Harry, before he returned to Zayn. Harry carried our stuff towards the bedroom while I drifted into the kitchen for a snack. I'd really wanted to order some pizza at the hotel or grab some fast food on the way home, but Harry had a new vegetarian recipe that he wanted to try for me.

At the table, Liam sat, with his eyes cast downward, jaw tense but shoulders slumped in what I could identify as defeat. As I watched, helpless, a tear slid down his face. I hated dealing with this stuff, which was so hypocritical of me, but what kind of friend would I be if I turned around?

"Li?"

His head dragged up, as if someone where holding it down and fighting him the whole way.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. What a stupid question.

Wordlessly, he held up the object he had been playing with. It was Niall's engagement ring. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What did I say? I wanted to comfort him, but my curiosity had already started to kick in.

"Did you guys…are you done? Officially?"

Liam's face fell a little, but he shook his head.

"Niall wants to talk it out, says I overacted and so did he, that we had a long day. But Louis, what are we going to do? We fight all the time and then our first conclusion is to break up. Something needs fixing, something that requires more than talking I think. I'm so confused."

He put his head in his hands, the ring still clasped between two fingers.

"I'll go get Harry," I offered, feeling a little more than helpless. "He'll know what to do."

Outside the kitchen door, Zayn had propped himself on the wall, his phone in hand even though the screen was a blank.

"Eavesdropping?" I whispered.

He shrugged carelessly.

"Hoping, I guess. Can't blame a guy."

A part of me wanted to be mad that Zayn would wish something like that for Liam, but I guess people are wrong. No matter how in love you are with someone, you are still going to be in pain if they aren't with you. It's not fair for people to say that if you don't only care for their happiness it isn't love. I don't know what I would do if Harry was with another man, if another man had declared his love in front of a crowd and slid a ring onto his finger. I'd die.

Yet something else had changed in Zayn, besides the hollows in his cheeks, the permanent and sheer exhaustion that pressed down on his shoulders. Before I could ask about it, Harry strolled past, nodding towards the kitchen.

"He needs you," I agreed. "Take your time."

He smiled at me, winked, and disappeared into the kitchen. A heartbeat later, his and Liam's voices were soft mumbles, Liam occasionally bursting into drawn out sobs.

"Intense shit," Zayn noted, trying for casualness but instead sounding very curious.

"Yeah, shit I'm not adept at dealing with. I had no clue what to say, even though Liam's always looked after me. I hate that I couldn't be of any help."

"Oh you did your best, Lewis. Don't be a girl."

Zayn reached out and punched at my shoulder, only to flinch when Liam let out a strangled sob from the other side of the door.

After a few soft words, Harry stepped out and craned his head to me and Zayn, gathered against the wall a few feet away.

"Lou, after dinner tonight I'm going out. I really didn't want to forget to tell you in case you wanted to make plans with Zayn."

It was so reflexive that we go everywhere together, my mind entirely omitted the 'I'm' and filled in the blank with 'we'.

"Where are we going?" I asked without even thinking.

For some reason, guilt flashed over his face.

"No Louis. Just me…and Nick. That's why I thought you and Zayn could…"

My heart stilled.

"Nick?"

As he nodded, I tried to think of any path that would have led to Harry wanting to hang out with his ex-boyfriend again. Alone. My mind jumped to the worst.

"Why would you want to?" I asked, trying and falling to keep the snarl out of my voice.

"There isn't any need to sound jealous. It's not an attractive trait." For the first time, his tone was angry, bitter. Towards me. "Besides, we were best friends for a long time and I miss him!"

I studied him for a full minute before he realized the choice of his words.

"No-Lou. I don't miss him like that. But Niall and Liam, and you of course, are the only people I really see. I just need a little change."

"So you're sick of me?" Normally I'd hate to sound like such a girl, but what I had picked out of the conversation thus far was that he missed his ex-boyfriend and hanging out with me all the time was getting old.

"That's not what I meant! You're taking my words and twisting them around."

He crossed his arms over his chest. I could see his fists clenching, the veins straining.

"I think I need a change, too," I said coldly, even though I really just wanted to wrap my arms around him and apologize, even though he had more to be sorry for. "I'll be with Zayn tonight. But call Nick over and see how he likes that new recipe, yeah?"

Zayn had been watching silently, mouth flapping open, the entire time, but he followed me outside fast, hardly blinking when I snatched my keys off the key tree so hard that it clattered to the floor. I glanced back, almost regretting that Harry would have to pick all the keys up, but then I stopped myself half-way.

I kept my vision forward and didn't unclench my fists until I was in the truck.

Zayn said nothing as I floored it, well over the speed limit and straight towards town. I turned when I felt like it, until we were on a long highway and Zayn tapped me lightly on the shoulder.

I ignored him.

Who the hell did Nick think he was? I know I fucking didn't deserve Harry but if the kid was delusional enough to want me, leave it alone. I'd never hated someone so much in my life, and given my background that really said something.

"Let's go home," Zayn eventually said, voice soft.

Without thinking about it, I turned my direction straight into our old neighborhood, driving until I came to a stop by the curb. I stared at our home, and it took me a few good seconds because it was hardly familiar, as if someone stripped away the flesh of it and I was looking at vaguely familiar bones.

The months had gotten to it. A sign, too official for the rest of the scenery, announced it as condemned. That didn't surprise me. The shit hole had been falling in us for a good few months.

Zayn scrambled out just as a figure pushed the door open.

"Who is that?"

"Parker. He left just after us and said to meet him here when you were done with your tantrum."

I hesitated. Something about Parker always had me on edge. Not simply his icy demeanor, but something dark in his eyes made me want to take a step back. Not to say I was afraid, simply wary.

"You asked me what changed," Zayn encouraged. "I'll show you. Don't worry, it will take your mind right off Nick and harry, okay?"

When I still didn't move, he continued.

"It's taken my mind off Liam. Until we got home, that is. I need this too."

Again, my curiosity beat out all the warning bells in my mind. I stepped out, following him up the cracked sidewalk and into the house inside. Reggie and Harvey sat on a frayed rug, smoking. It had only been the other day when I saw them last. We went and ate Chinese food, headed home and watched The Fast and the Furious with Harry, turning the volume up while Niall and Liam shouted angrily at each other from the kitchen. The argument had been about how long Niall had taken in the shower.

Still, it felt like it had been so long since we'd hugged, since we'd addressed the growing distance in our friendship.

"I missed you guys," I blurted out. They said the same, so fast that I didn't even feel embarrassed when Parker smirked and settled back on the floor.

"So what's going to help me, dear Zayn?" I drawled. "I'm really eager to see."

Parker's smirk turned eerie as he pulled container of something out of his messenger bag on the floor. I studied it before raising an eyebrow.

"Weed? That's it? You want me to take some drugs?"

"We don't want you to do anything, princess," Parker scoffed. "I'm offering it to you and you can take it or leave it. But this-" he waved the container my way, "-is just the toe across the line. The beginning of the night for us."

"We work our way up," Zayn explained gently. "Weed…hash. Then we go for cocaine and muscle relaxers, as well as some uppers. I don't think you're ready for crystal meth yet. Or heroin. But we'll have some tonight. Not all of them," he added. My face must have been priceless. "Different things for different feelings. And tonight you want to forget, right?"

I watched, frozen, as my mind tried to digest this but was simply unable to. It was there though. Parker pulled them out; a bong, some needles, a little meth. A bottle with pills.

Okay, I'd thrown a damn right tantrum, but I wasn't looking for this shit to get over it. I'd just wanted to vent to Zayn before going home and letting Harry beg for forgiveness. Or me beg for forgiveness. I'd been thinking alcohol had been what Zayn meant, and even that would have been crossing a little of the line I drew for myself.

"You aren't serious?" I nearly screamed. "Zayn this is dangerous! You saw the things it did to those people, and did you forget how we all agreed it wasn't our problem, that we'd never be like that?"

"It always was our problem," Zayn replied simply. He skipped the weed and went straight for the needle, injecting himself with heroin with such skill I knew he'd done it many times before. He hardly flinched as the needle slid into his skin, as he pushed down on the plunger.

Harvey and Reggie were already packing their bongs, and it all really looked like a bad sitcom, but it was so real. So wrong. I gave in a few minutes later, when it became obvious they weren't going to let me sway them, and reluctantly picked up a blunt. I'd done weed before, it wasn't bad. That was what I told myself.

So Harry and I got into an argument. How much did Zayn think I needed to forget? It wasn't like….but then the cellar door was open, and my nightmares came creeping out.

I saw Nick in my place a thousand times over, hanging decorations on the Christmas tree, kissing his way down the length of Harry on a hotel bed, trying his new stupid recipe….

My find flipped back to the image of Nick pressing his way inside Harry while Harry panted and screamed beneath him….

Once the thoughts were there, I couldn't escape them. My mind shackled itself there, and the worst part was that Nick had been persistent, and he had to be doing something right. Harry was with him right now. Not me.

"I want to try a line," I demanded when Nick set up the cocaine on what seemed to be a kitchen type cutting board.

"Lou, work your way up," Zayn almost scolded. It was all so fucked up and wrong and I'd seen what it did to people.

Nick and Harry. Nick's love bites replacing the faded one's I'd given harry on prom night.

"I don't fucking care," I said. Just let me forget for a second. I wouldn't be addicted to this shit. I knew so much better, honestly. But one night wouldn't hurt anybody.

The cocaine burned my nose on the way up, made my eyes water, but it would be so worth it when it kicked in, if it did the things Zayn said it did.

"He's a champ," Parker said, voice almost approving. For the very first time, he smiled. "Let him try it all, Zayn. It couldn't hurt, right?"

Zayn should have said it will hurt him. Later, Reggie would tell us about the woman who we'd witness drop dead from an overdose. Harvey would have mentioned how badly he'd seen it tear families apart. But we'd change yet again. Patchwork People, with all our parts recycled into pretty pills. Scattered into cocaine. Filled in a tiny vials of poison that we'd inject ourselves with.

We just wanted to feel whole again, and we'd do what we needed to, so long as we were a little more of the little selves that we had. We told our horror stories too late for them to count.

Parker offered me a pill later, well into the fun, and I took it without asking which of the many he'd listed it was. It was a mystery shot, but I didn't care anymore.

When I stumbled in later, so many hours later, Zayn supporting me, Nick's car was in the driveway. I knew it was his because his daddy happened to be rich and he'd bragged at Prom about how he drove a car better than anyone else's prom cars on the daily. The moonlight shined off the paint. How long had he been there? How long had I even been gone?

I didn't know.

I'd jumped around with Reggie, climbed the roof with Harvey, had ended up spray painting our old neighbors Doberman at some point. I'd been so far gone, my mind so drastically warped, that everything I saw was distorted and twisted like a fun house mirror. There were so many blank patches, so much that hadn't clicked yet.

I hoped it would. I wanted to remember forgetting. Zayn hadn't had much, so he insisted on driving. Parker had bought some whiskey too, at some point in our night, but Zayn said he fine with the crystal meth. Whether it had been the alcohol or the drugs that messed me up so badly, I didn't know. All I knew was that Zayn repeatedly told me I was lucky I didn't overdose, that you almost had to wean people onto such serious drugs in such doses.

So I was alive somehow. Yipee.

And on the drive home, I'd been so excited to see Harry, to tell him I was sorry for being jealous and possessive and I couldn't wait to have sex with him again. It was allowed now, I'd told Zayn, who laughed and shook his head.

But when I stumbled in, his bedroom door was shut, and Liam was sprawled out on the couch alone. He'd never let company be unattended, so Nick must have been in the room with Harry.

"What's wrong with him?" Liam cried, jumping up.

I laughed and glanced over my shoulder to see who he was talking about.

"He's just a little drunk," Zayn said carefully.

Me! They were talking about me. I must have looked rough or something. All I knew was that my insides were churning and maybe I could just punch Nick in the face and get it over with. But I swore I wouldn't be jealous. Even if they were alone in a room together.

"A little drunk?!" Liam's voice shot up an octave. "Zayn, he's covered in bruises!"

"I fell over a fence onto the sidewalk," I elaborated. Zayn groaned beside me, like Liam wasn't supposed to know or something. "I'm okay," I added. "I was trying to get away from Buster, the friendly neighborhood Doberman."

I dropped my tone.

"We painted him pink."

"You look like someone beat the shit out of you!" Liam nearly yelled. The commotion must have interrupted Nick and Harry's love fest; the door swung open and Nick stepped out. He didn't make eye contact with me, instead walking around us entirely and leaving. Harry followed, a little slower, but he halted when he caught sight of me.

His eyes moved all over my face, and though I wondered what he saw, I kept quiet. Then he turned to Zayn, angrier than I'd ever seen in all our time together.

"What the fuck happened to him?" he growled, voice so low and guttural that Liam actually took a step back.

"He's a little drunk," Zayn repeated our story, hardly batting an eyelash at the tone being directed at him. "He fell a bunch and moaned about how that, following the most important night of his life with you, you holed up in your room with your ex-boyfriend."

Maybe I'd been wrong. Zayn sounded just as angry as Harry. Good ole' Zayn, watching out for me. But his accusations upset Liam just as much.

"He was telling him that they could hang out, but they were never going to be a thing again!" Liam snapped towards Zayn. "And their relationship isn't your business!"

"It is when he's my best friend," Zayn said stormily. "But I'm guessing it's not my business no matter how close I am to the problem, just like yours and Niall's relationship isn't my business even though we fucked after he proposed to you?"

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Ohhhhhh!" I began to giggled, placing my hand over my mouth. "Busted. Zayn's right though, Harry. We could be engaged and you be fucking someone else, so I guess I exaggerated the problem a little." I wriggled away from Zayn and headed towards our room. Harry's eyes lit up with hope, like I was heading for him. But I regretted my tone, my reaction, to earlier. That didn't mean that the hurt was gone. It hid under the haze the drugs had draped over my brain.

"I'm going to bed now."

I stepped right past Harry into our room, collapsing onto the bed with a content sigh.

Harry shut the door behind us, flinching as Liam began to yell at Zayn.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said, still hovering near the door. "But Nick's always been my friend. I know he fucked up, I know I should hate him or whatever, but we have history and I can't forget how good of a friend he was to me before he turned into a terrible boyfriend."

"I don't understand you at all, Harry," I mumbled into my sheets. "But I still love you a lot."

I heard his footsteps, moving towards the bed, but all the defensiveness, the mistrust, I'd ever sustained before Harry kicked in and had me drawing away from him.

"Maybe you should sleep on the couch tonight," I suggested. My words sounded more sober than anything else I'd said yet. At least to my own ears.

"You're kicking me out of my own bed?" he asked, but he might have been trying to joke. There was something so desperate in the way it was asked.

"I just want to be alone," I said sleepily.

And I was. Seconds before I slipped into dreamland, the door opened, then closed, and I was alone.

The next morning I awoke with a sore body and a massive head ache. When I first opened my eyes, the room was a blur of soft edges and overly bright colors. It took a good few minutes before I could focus on the things around me. Or, that is to say, the lack of the things around me.

I'd reached for Harry before I could stop myself, fingers splaying over flat sheets and a cold pillow. Without even realizing it, I'd kept to my side of the bed all night. How pathetic. On the table beside me, Harry had brought me breakfast on a tray, arranged fancily and consisting of grains and an expensive cereal that was supposed to be perfect for you and all your health needs. God, I was so hungry. But I hadn't forgiven him yet, even if I had admitted to overreacting.

I rolled out of bed and stomped into the kitchen, past Liam and Zayn snuggled up on the couch. I guess I'd just ask about that later. Last I'd heard from them, they were cussing and screaming at one another.

I found Harry sat at the table in the kitchen, in the same spot Liam had been the night before. Instead of crying though, or even composing an appropriate apology like I'd hoped, he was reading a book.

I halted, my breath catching in my throat as I drank in the sight of him.

Sometimes I could forget how incredibly beautiful he was, how much he took my breath away the first time I saw him. It was so ridiculous, but even now I still had such a crush on him.

He wore a black turtleneck sweater, tight and fitting to all his wiry muscles. On his wrist was a fancy watch that his mother had gotten him from some place or another. The cross necklace had been tucked away, hidden from me. With his black skinny jeans and boots, he looked ready to go somewhere nice, maybe on a date. Not so much like the hippie Harry I knew, but still my Harry.

Despite my anger, I had a brief flash of hope that last night could be forgotten.

But to make it all worse, he had on his damn glasses.

Then, the cherry on top of all this, he finally sensed me there. When he met my eyes, he flashed his lop sided smile, showing off his adorable chipped tooth.

"Morning sunshine."

I had to chant in my mind over and over again that I was furious at him, that his gorgeous appearance didn't matter. His smile slipped a little when I didn't reply and headed to the cabinets.

"I left breakfast for you," he went on, deflated. "By the bed. Didn't you…erm…see it?"

"I saw it," I replied loftily.

And I ignored it. I found the bag of powdered donuts that Niall always ate, but since he was currently staying with his mum throughout this fight with Liam, I doubted he would care. I sat down across from Harry, looked him in the eye, and stuffed two in my mouth.

He sighed, as if I were a petulant child, and returned to his book.

I had almost eaten my way through the whole bag when Harry spoke again.

"I wanted to go out today….we can go to the movies, go grab some dinner. We'll have the house to ourselves tonight, too. Zayn is taking Liam to a club."

I glanced over my shoulder pointedly.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Oh. Just making sure you really mean me this time and Nick didn't happen to be standing behind me."

Harry shut his book and pursed his lips, regarding me before shaking his head.

"I won't talk to Nick that much if it bothers you, but it's going to bother me that I can't have friends besides the ones that are living with me."

"You can!" I shot back. "But I hate it when you want to ditch me for your ex-boyfriend that treated you like shit! So sue me."

I pushed my chair away from the table and stormed back to the bedroom. Inside, I yanked open the closet door and began combing through the clothes. I pulled a few sweaters out before sighing and tossing them in the floor. A few moments after my dramatic exit, Harry crept in and sat down on the edge of the bed. He watched the scene for a moment before saying anything.

"What are you doing, babe?" he asked, voice so soft and timid I almost missed it over the rake of clothes hangers against the metal hanging rod.

"We're going out aren't we?"

I turned and watched the smile break over his face, and my anger faltered yet again.

"Take your time getting ready, then. I'll be in the living room."

I turned back to the closet, eyeing all the black clothing and thinking about how much mine and Harry's style had both changed since we'd been together. We'd started sharing clothes, right from the beginning, and then his hippie vibe faltered a little bit. My tough guy look had certainly suffered, seeing as Harry turned me into an overly emotional teenage girl every day.

Maybe I needed to remind him what he'd gotten himself into.

I pulled out a woolen Bullet for my Valentine sweater, an exclusive I'd found at some shop in London with Zayn, way back when we were still in school. I'd been so excited to find a sweater with a band name on it, I bought it without even thinking.

Seeing it hanging there gave me a distantly sad feeling. I pulled it on, let my hair do what it wanted, and tried to find my black jeans with the studs lining the rips on the knees. Maybe my black oxfords spoiled the bad boy vibe, but I couldn't help it. They'd gone unworn for so long.

When I stepped out, Harry hardly batted an eyelash. Instead, he kissed me on the forehead and smiled.

"You look lovely. Ready to go?"

I was almost frustrated with how perfect he was, really, but at least yesterday's events were slowly becoming a bad memory. And my headache was easing up.

"I'm ready whenever you are."

Just as Harry and I headed towards the door, Zayn cleared his throat.

"Ah…Louis? Me, you, Reggie, and Harvey are meeting up tonight. They miss us hanging out you know?"

I knew without a second of thought what they were meeting up to do. And I knew by the wary, guilty look that tonight would include Parker and maybe even William. I opened my mouth to tell him no, I swear. To tell him I didn't want to go back and do any of those drugs I'd sampled the night before. I didn't need them anymore, didn't need to start forgetting the good days.

But my pulse raced at the thought of doing another line, and pestering Reggie to share the weed. Asking Zayn how to inject myself.

I agreed before I could even think it through, with Harry smiling at me the entire time.

It was just one more time, I told myself. For fun, while Zayn was still in town.

And that wasn't wrong at all.

It started out so innocently, it seemed.

Harry and I had fun, our argument slipping away gradually until, at the end of the night, we were holding hands and kissing as we walked down the street. A part of me was furious that I'd gone so out of control for such a stupid reason last night. Another part of was saying that yes my life with Harry and at the tattoo parlor were nice, but being with the lads in that special place made everything a bit more…level. I didn't feel like I'd slipped so far away from my old life.

I didn't need to go. It took one time, I had always told myself. One time and you could be gone.

Addicted, dead.

Either.

But it was just until Zayn left town. If that was how I had to have fun with him, it couldn't hurt anyone.

One more time turned into five, then seven, and then twelve.

Harry said that he set the boundary line with Nick, and I relented that I could no more control my boyfriend than I could Nick. But Nick didn't know boundaries. How could I trust him though Harry? But I bit my lip, told Harry to go and have fun. I was scared, you see, that if I threw myself into another jealous rage, that Harry would leave me.

The drugs became an unwanted regular in my life, and I hated them. I hated sitting on that old floor and watching Parker smirk at me while Zayn passed the weed.

I didn't trust him.

I was better than him.

I was in the same place as him by the end of the night.

No, I wasn't addicted. I could pull away at any time. But if Harry wanted to rip my heart out by keeping up his affair, I had to keep myself numb for the process.

God, I could be so dramatic. Harry wasn't leaving me, not yet. Yet that's what the whole ordeal felt like, him trying on outfits for me, chatting about how good it was to have Nick as a friend again. How he'd forgotten how much they had in common.

Sickening.

On the thirteenth time, we met up and began smoking, chatting while Reggie and Harvey attempted to do back flips of the front steps. They failed terribly, in case you're wondering, flopping over in the grass and giggling like young girls.

I'd smoked meth, enjoyed the sensation of the world tipping and the colors spilling themselves into one another. I swore I wouldn't try too much that night, that I didn't need to.

One more time.

Until Zayn leaves.

It became my mantra.

But I'd done three lines of cocaine before I could think twice. William was there that time, different than his older, crueler self. He laughed more, joked around with me. Okay, he had always been a little prick, but Zayn said he'd done a lot of changing and the drugs had mellowed him out.

I only did it because Nick wanted to take Harry for dinner with one of his friends from a recording studio. Harry had been gushing, so excited because he had a chance to get ahead in his career, but I couldn't even be happy because I was so jealous. I'd wanted to give Harry his dreams wrapped in a neat little package.

Who gave Nick the right to do it?

It was while William was telling me a great dirty joke that I felt Parker's hand on me. I glanced down at where it rest on my thigh and felt a shiver of forbidding. He made no move to remove his hand, but my motor skills had been slowed. I tried to shove him off, but I felt so weak, and maybe it didn't matter. It was just a hand.

Reggie came over at that point, what felt like a day or two later. His hands were filled with pills.

"What're these?" I slurred.

He shrugged, and I laughed as if it were all a joke.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "But I'm only sharing them with you."

"Aw come on!" Parker smirked. "Sharing is caring."

He squeezed my thigh.

"I'm agreeing here, Regg," William said. I'd never heard him call any of us by a nickname. Maybe drugs were the best thing for him. "Give us at least one."

"Nope! All for me and my Louis!"

We laughed together, took turns swallowing the pills like sweet tarts. I didn't pause as they slid down my throat, one by one. I felt so good, so alive and whole and like nothing could ever bother me again. I needed that, just then. I needed to be okay, to not worry about a charming, good looking guy like Nick taking Harry away from me. He would be waiting for me at home, waiting for only me. But Nick might call, Nick might be sitting alone too.

He'd say that they might as well be alone together.

I hated Nick.

I hated him creeping into all my thought, tearing apart my wiring until my only program was to be terrified of losing Harry. That wasn't healthy, but neither was this.

I took another pill, and an alarm bell went off in the distance.

Perhaps I'd taken too many.

It wasn't healthy for Harry to care about his exes either, I decided. Fair is fair. He shouldn't be allowed to drive me mad; only I should be able to make my body this crazy.

The ceiling was bleeding into the floor.

_Drip. Drip._

I wanted to tell someone to turn that damn bell off, but my tongue felt fat and useless in my mouth.

Harry. I had to go home to Harry before Nick beat me. I bet he was running, reciting all the lines to say to Harry to make him doubt me.

I couldn't let him.

I stood.

In that space of time, I felt on top of the world, all my fears buried away in the cracks of the concrete.

Then I heard a dull snap, ricocheting through my skull. I was going down.

Then Reggie dropped. Someone screamed, but I didn't hear them. I was heading under, too.

Harry's deep, rumbling voice was what I awoke to. At first, I saw only a bright light, blazing just above me like a white halo.

Then registered the sound of a steady, rhythmic beeping coming from nearby, close enough that it was annoying but not close enough that I could swat it away.

But Harry's voice is what my senses honed in on, drew comfort from.

"He's awake," someone said softly. Nick. Nick was here. Wherever here was. "I'll go get the doctor."

There was a soft shuffling, and then Harry's face swam into view.

"Where'm I?" I groaned. And what the fuck was Nick doing here.

"The hospital," Harry replied flatly.

He helped me adjust my bed, so that I could see him better and I wasn't laying so flat on my back. I wish he hadn't though. His eyes were dull and lifeless, hair rumpled and flat on one side as if he'd been sleeping when he bolted out of bed to…here. The hospital.

"What am I doing here?" I asked.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Instead of answering my question, he pulled something from his pocket and sat it on my lap. Curiously, I picked it up, spinning it around in my hands. I looked from him to the object a couple of times, confused.

"It's a…toy car?"

"It's a toy Lamborghini," he elaborated. His voice was so brittle, as if he might break away at any second. "One of the first times we talked, you said that if you could have anything it would be concerts for The Fray….or a Lamborghini. The Fray isn't touring right now, and as much as I'm pulling from my college funds…I don't have enough to get you a real Lamborghini."

I looked at it in my hands and let the wheels roll over the creases in my palm. I'd always known how thoughtful Harry could be, but something about the gesture brought these frantic tears to my eyes.

"Babe," he crowed. "Don't cry. It's over now, all of it. They flushed out your system…."

"My system? Hazza, what's going on?"

"You overdosed," he said, like I should have already put that much together. Really though, I should have. "You were tossing all this junk into your bloodstream that didn't belong. You're lucky to be alive."

I nodded, fighting back the guilt that even now he would be so kind and loving towards me. I'd overdosed, even though I'd been the one so concerned about Zayn or even Reggie doing so.

"How is Reggie?"

Harry visibly stiffened, avoiding my eyes in favor of the scratchy, hospital issued blanket.

"Harry?"

He closed his eyes, steeled himself, then opened them and gave me the news.

"He didn't make it. I….Lou….he died on the scene. Liam and Zayn watched them carry him out. I was already in the ambulance with you, though, so I didn't see him."

I tried not to picture the scene of Harry holding my hands while paramedics worked over me. Instead, my mind tried to wrap itself around the unimaginable. Reggie. Gone. Gone to wherever Luca had slipped away to.

We'd never see them again, and if I had been just a tiny bit more unfortunate, I would have been added to the list.

"Okay," I said, my voice so small against the overpowering white walls.

I studied the toy car in my hands, until Harry offered to go get breakfast. I think he felt more helpless than I did right then.

Just before he went, he lingered in the doorway, hands touching the frame.

"I knew Reggie."

I pulled my head up, puzzled.

"Of course you did."

"No, I knew him. Before you. Nick liked his drugs leisurely, and there was a time where Reggie sold a particularly bad batch to him. Reggie had always sold Nick…us…good stuff. I used to sit on the couch while Nick fished money out and tell Reggie what Nick did to me, how I wished I could get out. I just wanted someone to know."

He let out a sigh that rolled through his whole body, and for the first time he seemed like a kid to me.

"We didn't know the drugs were bad, of course, until it was done, until the nightmares started and I stopped sleeping. I was a mess. Nick thought it would be funny to get back at him…which I was against from the beginning. But Nick always thought everything he did was right. Even if it meant destroying a relationship."

He opened his mouth to say more, but thought better of it and left. I listened to his footsteps retreating down the halls and remembered a time where he demanded that I stopped dropping bombs on him. He'd felt like he knew nothing about me.

Now I understood.

Gingerly, I set the toy car aside and closed my eyes.

They were so long ago, but I could remember Reggie's words as if they were just spoken to me.

'_And I finally met this hippie that she had been telling me about. And guess what? I sold drugs to him all the time, him and his poor, naive boyfriend… All because I apparently sold him some bad stuff. And this kid was so young. I mean, so were we, but he had to have been just out of his teens.'_

Reggie knew Harry the moment he met him. That had been why he felt guilty over being against our relationship, why he'd helped me with our first date. And even worse, Harry knew. Reggie must have hated himself for ruining Harry, but must have been so angry about the impact ruining him had on his own life. What amazed me was that Reggie knew more about Harry than I did now all those months ago.

Now it didn't matter. Reggie knew nothing but darkness, and hopefully some sliver of peace. It didn't change that fact that I'd rather him be miserable alongside me.

"God, Reggie, what have we done to ourselves?"

I folded myself up as tight as I could and did what I'd done so well since I met Harry; I cried until my body couldn't produce any more tears.

They let me go just a couple of days later, loading Harry down with pamphlets about rehab centers and insisting that I needed to consider going. I didn't, not for a second. Zayn had been quiet the whole time, and even though Liam must have known what all he'd been doing, they were as close as ever. They ate dinner together, watched bad movies together, and stayed up late talking. I could hear them when I got up to get a late night snack or something. That had me happy for Zayn, honestly, that he could have someone that he would stay up for hours just talking to, but I also missed Niall, who sent the occasional message from his mum's house. He wasn't ready to come home, and even if he was I don't think Liam would allow it so soon.

I don't think Niall's name ever found its way into those late night conversations though.

Harry and I could do the same, stay up forever talking, but lately I was so ashamed about what I'd done that I didn't have any words besides 'I'm sorry'.

Harry forgave me. He always did. But I knew there would be a day when I pushed the line. And what then?

Maybe I'd already pushed our line into addiction. We'd always known it took just one good time, one nice trip or a good hit of weed. There were times in the next few nights where I woke up in a cold sweat, actually itching for it. Or maybe not the dugs exactly, but the escape from my worries. Harry and I hadn't had sex since prom night. Maybe he was disgusted by it, by me. I was a mess, and I'd already been forgiven for so much.

Harry actually began reading the pamphlets when he woke up and found me sitting outside in the middle of the street.

I honestly couldn't recall how I'd gotten out there, but the gravel had felt good against my fevered skin.

There were nights like that, were I kind of drifted around with a distinct feeling of being lost inside a tiny snow globe, and I felt like my lungs were going to burst from panic. There were nights were I was okay, though, and I held out for them. Harry and I couldn't afford treatment. I didn't just have to get better for my sake; it was essential for Harry's welfare.

One night, when I couldn't sleep, I just watched him. How the snores escaped his soft lips, how his eyelashes kissed his cheeks. And I began to feel a horrid, suffocating feeling when I realized that he could have anyone he wanted. Anyone in the whole damn world. And he'd been trapped with me. I bolted for the bathroom and collapsed on the floor. I hated all the things my mind had started whispering to me, keeping me away from sleep. I clutched at my head, foolishly but so desperately wishing it would help draw the horrible thoughts out.

He could have anyone.

I tore my shirt off and scrambled off the tile floor. I twisted this way and that, studying myself in the mirror. My belly stuck out so much, and compared to all the other boys, my muscles were pathetic.

I sat down on the edge of the bathtub, staring at my feet and waiting for the bad storm to pass. I couldn't feel this way forever. Maybe tomorrow I would hurt so much, I would think so angrily about myself.

Not for the first time, I regarded the shaving razor sitting on the edge of the sink. It could be so easy to trace lines on my skin. So easy. I'd done it many times a few years back, mainly after my sisters' deaths. It hadn't been a long habit, I never could settle on one thing for long, good or bad. But I'd left scars on my skin and memory.

I clutched at my head again.

Did I want out of my own body so bad that I would so willingly cut myself, let everything I was bleed out? Maybe not so drastically, but I shuddered as I realized the answer. Yes. I wanted to do something, anything, to stop the naggings thoughts.

I needed help.

I couldn't afford help.

Instead, I crawled back into bed with Harry, pressing myself into him forcefully Harry's side to stop the shivering. He loved me, I had to accept that. Even if he could love me more if I stopped messing up, if I got my life together instead of letting it fall where it wanted.

A rumble shook through Harry's chest.

"Are you cold Boobear?"

Freezing. It's so cold in the damn house.

Everything is so cold.

"I just wanted to be closer to you," I teased. "Go back to sleep; I'm sorry I woke you."

The next night was the last happy night that I could ever remember. Zayn and Liam were snuggled up on the couch yet again, fingers entwined. Zayn's whole face was soft as he watched Liam watch the television. Harry watched me as well, but more in the way as if he was waiting for me to pull a bong from underneath my shirt or something and start taking hits.

But last night's panicked had eased up a little bit, and I found a bit of respite from it by holding Harry's hand.

I had yet to ask what had happened with Niall. I figured they'd tell me when they were ready, if they even knew. Harry must have. He'd be concerned as to where his best friend went.

Later, Harry and I made cookies and hot chocolate, even though winter had slowly began receding. It would be entirely warm in another month or so, but by then I hoped I could try to get in at a few spring classes. Get somewhere that would make Harry proud, I hope.

I finally asked, just as Harry finished mixing the batter.

"Where's Niall? I know his at his home…but you know what I mean.."

I asked quietly, in case Liam heard.

"They're done," Harry replied, just as softly. "And Niall's a lot more upset than we thought he'd be."

I nodded and turned my attention outside, where the sun had just slipped down past the trees. In my pocket, my phone buzzed with a new text message. Who the hell would be texting me, I had no fucking clue.

_**This is parker. meet me at the house ?**_

My breath caught. Did he really think I'd still do that shit? After I'd almost lost my life, destroyed my relationship with Harry over it? No, I'd messed up enough. I was done failing Harry, done almost ruining the things between us. No more drugs, more working, and more looking into a good uni. Harry might have a promising career to follow, but I didn't have much to go on.

All the same, I intended to make him proud.

I slid off the counter, telling Harry I'd be back, and slipped into the living room. Zayn sat on the couch alone.

"Where'd Liam go?"

"He's getting a shower." Zayn sat the remote down and turned to me. "Why, did you need something from him?"

"Parker just texted me," I explained in a whisper. "I guess he thinks we are still meeting up. So I'm going over there."

Zayn sat up straight in alarm.

"Louis, no. We're done with that now. All of it, okay? I'm done selling and smoking and everything and so are you." His eyes were bright with pain. "Everything is finally right. For both of us. We can't risk it, not ever again."

I looked away, wanting to ask him how easy it was for him to drop the itch after he'd clearly been doing it so long. I was going mad after only a few days. Did Liam really make him that happy?

"Calm down. I'm going to tell him and William exactly what you just told me. We are done. And when I get back, we'll go online and see about uni, okay? And tomorrow we can go job hunting. For you."

The smile that graced his face was the first and most sincere I'd seen in such a long time.

"Yeah. I'm going to be staying here, you know. I need to get some clothes, too."

"We'll go shopping around tomorrow, yeah? It'll be fun."

"Shopping?" Harry emerged from the kitchen and walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I hope I'm included in this trip. I'm lacking spring clothes."

"You're always included," I said, pressing back against him. "But I have to go grab something at the store right fast, okay? I'll be back before the cookies are finished."

"Store?" Harry spun me around slowly. Under his scrutiny, I felt flushed with guilt. Thank God it would be the last time.

"Yeah, we are also lacking crisps, and I'm craving them. But I'll be back."

"I don't know what I'll do without you," Harry teased, kissing my hair.

"Probably rot away."

"You're right," Harry agreed playfully. "Just hurry back, okay? I do want to settle in and watch this movie."

Zayn perked up again as the bathroom door opened and shut. I felt bad for Harry, staying alone with the two of them. Also, the walls clearly weren't sound proof.

Kissing Harry one last time, I grab the keys to my truck and stepped into the clean, cool night air. Everyone always agreed that the spring was a time for new beginnings, and how symbolic it was that I would go end a chapter of my life on a night where spring was just tangible.

On the drive over, that's all I really thought about. Me and Harry. We might get married one day, get a house of our own. Hell, we might even adopt. I know it was all so soon, that we would have so many more trials to get through in our relationship, but I couldn't see myself going anywhere with anyone if it wasn't him. Harry was the end of the line, and I meant that in the best way possible. That had to be why I was so unafraid when I pulled up to my old house and saw William's car.

I used to be so scared of being beaten, of saying no to my older friends in the business. I was so proud that I took hits for the lads. I could fight back now, if I had to. Selling and taking drugs had been addicting, but when it came down to choosing between them and Harry, it was a no brainer.

Even if I lived to work a nine to five job, I could be content as long as Harry was in the picture.

I squared my shoulders and headed up the stairs, smiling at the familiar creak of the second one, and returned to my old home. Inside, Parker sat on our rug, smoking a regular cigarette and pouring drinks into two glasses.

"Where's William?" I asked. My voice echoed, bouncing off the walls, the noise I'd never been accustomed to. The place used to be filled with the sounds of bickering and Luca trying to referee the fights. Now all I head was the sloshing of liquor in the bottle.

"I took his car," Parker replied, setting his glass down. "I just wanted to hang out with you tonight."

A shiver of forbidding coursed through me, the same I felt every time I was around him, but I sat down and plastered on my best smile.

"Harry's waiting on me. I just wanted to let you know that Zayn and I are through…with everything. No more selling or drugs for me. No more of anything for him."

Though Parker seemed bothered by this, he shrugged and pushed the second glass towards me.

"Can you still have one drink with a friend?"

I picked it up, studying the amber liquid before shrugging. All alcohol tasted great to me.

"One drink couldn't hurt."

I didn't bother asking when we'd become friends.

As we drank, he asked me about Harry. How we met, how long we'd been together. The more I talked about Harry, the happier I felt, and the less I felt the urge to drink. I stopped with my glass less than half drank.

It was as I discussed all the fun we had at prom that Niall texted me, out of nowhere it felt.

It was the first time I'd heard from him since prom night.

_**Where are ya mate. Its urgent**_

I texted back, my fingers dragging and my head bobbing. I was so tired, and I couldn't figure out why. It hit me so fast. Maybe the liquor was stronger than I'd figured. Even then, I was no stranger to the art of drinking and couldn't quite understand why I felt so sluggish so fast.

_**My old home drinking with parker**_

My old home with its ragged walls and the jars we used to keep neatly labeled for money distribution smashed against the tiles.

Niall didn't reply, so I took another sip of the liquid. Parker's eyes fixed on my lips with an almost predatory gleam.

"You have the best mouth, I swear."

I nearly spat out my drink.

"Excuse me?"

"I've noticed for a little bit now." He shrugged unabashed. "I thought they'd look so nice in so many positions. I didn't think you'd mind."

A sick feeling settled over me, and I quickly realized that all my worries about him had been right. Something was off. I stood on shaky legs.

"I have a boyfriend, Parker. I just sat here and told you about him."

"I know. But I don't see how he's going to get in my way tonight."

He stood, stretching lazily. I never had been so scared of someone before, but suddenly I knew that Parker probably had a weapon on him, that he had a manic gleam in his eyes much like the one Bumper used to boast.

And I realized he'd spiked my drink with something. I was shaking, my vision blurring. It wasn't right. I couldn't move my legs towards the door. Before I could consider another option, he'd pushed me back to the floor, climbed on top of me. My famous last words could have been that I tried. I fought back, kicking and punching at his face sluggishly. I might have been a toddler for all the good it did. His laughter dwarfed me, left me feeling small and helpless as he pinned my arms over my head and crushed his lips to mine.

He swallowed my screams with a smile, bit at my bottom lips before pressing sloppy kisses down my neck. I writhed beneath him, trying to escape, but I felt as though my limbs had been laden down with sandbags. My head spun, thinking about how he had to have planned this, had knew that I would come alone. The million dollar questions would be why would he pick me?

And did Zayn have any idea who he'd been working with? I tried to think of Harry, hoped he might somehow realize something was wrong and he'd save me. I knew that was so naïve though, that I shouldn't need saving.

But God, I did. I needed help. I never thought, never considered for a second, that I could feel so disgusting, so used. So utterly helpless.

His hands were tugging at my pants, his mouth sucking vile marks on my skin. My arms were spread out now, but I didn't remember moving them. I hadn't even realized that he'd let them go. I kept my eyes fixed on a spot, just above me on the ceiling. It was a ketchup stain that Zayn and Reggie never thoroughly explained, just insisting they'd engaged in a food fight.

I held onto it, kept my eyes anchored there. I tried to disappear into a little, pure pocket of my mind as he worked my jeans off, as he hands pushed my legs apart. I winced at the sound his zipper being pulled down. I tried to scream then, just once more, but I didn't really find my voice. Not until he pushed inside of me. No lube, no condom. Just skin tearing and one of the most gut wrenching pains I'd ever known. I screamed then, felt the tears flowing down my face.

I chanted again and again that all this couldn't be happening to me, that I was strong and tough and things like this didn't happen to me. Then he was moving. In and out, grunting my name. It sounded so wrong rolling off his tongue, so dirty. I hated it. I hated him.

There was bleeding, I could feel it.

With the force that he'd entered me with, I had no doubt that I'd have to crawl my way to the hospital. I could call someone, but I was so ashamed at the way his lips touched me, how his hands grasped at my cock. I didn't want anyone to know about any of it.

Maybe he would kill me.

In that moment, I couldn't help but to be selfish. I wanted to die right then. I wanted to die so that I wouldn't have to explain to the doctors about how weak I'd been.

He pulled out then, as my mind circulated around the ideal of how pathetic I was, and he came with a moan. As if he were trying to shame me further, he came over my chest, a little on my neck. I hoped he'd kill me. I hoped the drinks would kill me. I wanted to die more than I ever had before.

After he'd finished, he collapsed on me, lazily kissing at me throat.

"Wasn't that nice? I knew you'd never agree to it, but I couldn't help myself. When a pretty boy comes along, I take what I want. You're honestly lucky you're first."

The smell of his breath near my face revolted me. I could feel his cock, still half-hard, pressed against my thigh. If he did it all again, I wouldn't make it. I would check out entirely, curl up in the center of my skull and never return.

"I tried to get to Zayn," he whispered in my ear. "But the slut wouldn't take a damn drink I gave him. He'd go out and fuck these strangers for money and leave me alone aching for him. But you've helped me a lot. I'd like to keep you around a while."

While I tried to hone in on that stain, tried to keep some sanity, his hands slid down to my thighs again.

"Your body is so beautiful, so tempting. You have to understand why I couldn't resist."

He kissed me again, but I could feel a bit of my strength returning. I could fight him, if he just waited a few more minutes. I hadn't drunk much, so maybe if I could hold on. Just a little longer.

"In just a moment," he whispered, "you'll be sucking me off. And if you try anything, I'll kill you."

In the final sane corner of my mind, I thought that I'd be okay with that. I'd be worth it to see him in pain when I bit down and left him with an ounce of the pain he'd given me. I was still bleeding, but the pain had surpassed a level my mind could acknowledge.

"But maybe I'll go again, while you're all stretched out."

I wasn't stretched, I wanted to scream. I was torn. I was in agony.

Then I heard a scream, and I was saved. A figure shoved Parker off of me, began pounding fists into his face. Sluggishly, I sat up and settled against the wall. I tried to stop the room from spinning, but I couldn't. Everything felt so wrong, upside down.

As Parker lay moaning on the floor, this time in pain, the figure's features swam into focus.

"Niall!" I nearly sobbed. His face was pale white as he studied me.

"Jesus, mate. Let's get you in the car."

He gave me the sweatpants he was wearing, standing there in his boxers as I guided my legs into them. I still felt so slow, so dead.

"How did you know?" I asked as he guided me outside.

"You're text stupid. I was coming over because I really needed to talk to someone…about Liam. I was sitting in the car drinking, figuring we'd stay here, and then I noticed you'd parked down the street. Thought I'd heard a scream…"

He babbled like this as he helped me into the car, cutting off and then continuing when he slid into his own seat.

"Where are you taking me?" I interrupted. If he took me back to Harry, I couldn't bear it. After all I'd messed up, after how messed up I was, I would die if he knew I had been tainted further. That's all that kept my head up. Harry. How we were supposed to start the next part of our lives tomorrow. We were going to go shopping, pick out new spring clothes. I couldn't now. I could barely walk.

I doubted he'd even want to look at me now. I'd killed a friend of his, had sold drugs, had thrown a tantrum about another friend of his, and then I'd overdosed and he'd had to take time out of his life to sit around and wait on me to wake up. And now this had happened. I didn't even stop to think that perhaps I would simply be the victim in all this. No, I'd known Parker was bad news, had known that I shouldn't have sold drugs or tried drugs or took a drink of alcohol when Harry was waiting at home with cookies. I knew better, so it me in the wrong.

"Liam's left me. Officially, I mean," Niall said, breaking my out of my thoughts. He sniffled, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. "We fought so much….but I still didn't think…"

Something snapped together in my bogged down mind. Niall had said he'd been drinking.

"Ni, pull over," I said gently.

"I will," he hiccupped. "We're almost there. To your house, that is. It's not mine anymore. Harry can take you to the hospital. I just…what do I do without Liam? I can't seem to remember. And all those annoying habits I thought I was starting to hate are driving me mad with their absence. The thing was….I worked in some shitty places to get him his ring. None of the money I had was enough to get him what he deserved…I needed more…and I was ashamed the whole time. But he deserved the best. I'm talking like a crazy person, aren't I?"

To my alarm, he took his eyes from the rode to smile crookedly at me.

"S'okay. I'm going to be okay. I'll find something to do with myself. I'll find someone eventually, won't I? I just believe that there's someone there for everyone. But you know what my greatest fear is?"

I mumbled a vague sound, silently praying he'd keep his eyes on the road, that his hands would stop shaking. We were both a little gone, my mind still hovering over the fact that something unthinkable had happened to me, and Niall still stuck in the place he'd been when he started drinking.

"I'm scared," Niall said softly, "that God made someone for me. My soul mate or whatever. But they passed away."

"No, Ni. There's someone for you. You'll find him. Or her. Whatever is right, is right. But when you find them, you'll know."

I hated to sound so cheesy, but Niall was so dejected. And talking kept me distracted from the fact that Harry was just minutes away, that he would start asking questions and I have to explain that I lied again, had gone and sat down for a drink with Parker who had….raped me.

My brain chewed the word over and spat it out, gagging at the abnormality of it.

I let my head fall against the window.

"You're right," Niall replied. "I'll know. But I've spent so much of my life feeling like I've known. Get me? So what now?" he asked softly.

I was still trying to figure out just how to answer that when the world shattered around us.

I wanted Harry to tell me.

My friends had always been the ones to tell me.

But it was the doctors, hovering near by with sad faces, who announced it in a monotone, before anyone else was even allowed in to see me.

They happened to be the same doctors that attended to me after the over dose. Had that really just been a few weeks ago?

My truck, an completely intoxicated driver and previously injured passenger, blew through a red light well into its duration. A semi, going a little too fast but not fast enough to take the spotlight away from us, didn't have enough time to think about touching the brake.

Niall Horan died on impact.

Their voices rolled away from me, on new waves of grief. They were gone, floating out the window until only the breeze blew back a few words to me.

"It was fast…..no pain…..you're so lucky….strongly urge treatment."

I'm not lucky. I don't need healing.

I need new parts, a new heart, a new brain. Give me a new body that hasn't been torn into.

Don't leave me in this one, I wanted to beg.

The guilt engulfed me as I lay there in my bed, thinking about how I shouldn't have let him drive, how things were always my fault. How many more people would I lose along the way? How many more would be my fault?

Zayn came in about five hours after I woke up, grimly informed me that Liam had been so hysterical that he'd had to be sedated. He also told me, clearly oblivious, that Parker had skipped town.

"Must have gotten into a bad fight and lost," he said. "The bloke's face had been beaten to a pulp. But William isn't too sad to see him go, and I'm not either. There was always something off about him."

I closed my eyes. They had no idea.

The doctors must have known that I'd been…raped….because they tip toed around me and the nurses were overly sympathetic and mushy. They didn't act this way when Reggie died.

I thought that my grieving would last forever, until my next round of visiting hours came around and I finally saw the face I wanted; Harry's.

When he walked in the room, I fully expected him to come sit by me, take my hand and talk to me. Instead, he spared me one glance before pacing over to the window.

"Harry…?" I asked, timid. He was grieving too, but I thought we could share it. Find comfort in each other.

Though I wasn't too sure what to expect, I knew it wasn't the expression on his face when he turned around. Bypassing all forms of anger, he was livid. Instead of sympathy, he glared down at me with exactly what I'd been fearing to see since we'd been together; absolute disgust.

"Why did you let him drive, knowing he was drunk?" he hissed. His hands gripped the rails of my bed. I flinched away. How could I tell him without telling him? Or…did he know? Did he not care?

"I wasn't able to…" I explained feebly.

"BULLSHIT!"

With a swipe, he knocked my glass of water from the bedside table. It shattered against the floor, the glass catching the sunlight and I thought that I'd never witness Harry acting violent.

"YOU WERE FINE! YOU ONLY HAD A LITTLE IN YOUR SYSTEM AND NOW NIALL'S GONE!"

"Reggie and Luca are gone, too," I argued, but it sounded so weak to my own ears. I'd been right. Harry knew. And he didn't care.

He paced away from me, shoes crunching over the glass. His chest was rising and falling as he did his yoga breaths, trying to calm down. There was that at least.

"Listen, Harry I"

"And Niall's brother!" He spun around, eyes still so filled with fire that I shrank away. "You've taken two sons away from a family. Jesus, Louis, I love you, and I try to forgive you, but don't you see what you've done? To all of us?"

As he looked away again, his shoulders slumped with defeat.

"Maybe we were better off…me and Liam…before you and Zayn came along. Maybe Gemma was better before Reggie. I just….things are so wrong. There were only a few times were they were right and I hate that…I love you but should it be like this all the time….the deaths and lies…."

He covered his face with his hands, and for the first time I witnessed Harry crying.

"This isn't right."

"So this was all a mistake?"

My heart sank as he didn't answer. Without a word, he turned and walked out the door, shaking his head as he went.

Like he was simply too disgusted to even look at me. I made my decision, right then, as the door shut behind him. When Zayn returned, I asked one favor of him. He agreed with a downcast look, but he would go along with it.

"Liam and I….we weren't ever really going to work anyway, huh? Especially not now." He smiled bitterly and turned on heel, vanishing around the corner. I kept hoping Harry would march in the door and change everything, but I didn't hear from him. I sat alone in the silence until Zayn returned, handing me a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I tore the IV out of my arm, hardly flinching. It didn't compare.

As I dressed, I really hoped that something would change my mind, that the terrible sick in my stomach would pass and I would realize that there were other options.

Nothing changed. I still felt as if my feet were glued to a one way street.

Once I was dressed and Zayn was ready, I sat down with a piece of paper, trying to work out what to say. How could I phrase a goodbye like this?

I could stay, yes, and let Harry forgive me again, or let Harry end us and go on hating me. But I couldn't stand either option. I had known that Harry always deserved better, and I would give him an out. He would never have to see my face again. I was childish, perhaps, for leaving so unannounced, for assuming the absolute worse. If I stayed, though, I would die in so many ways.

_**Harry, **_I finally began.

_**I hope one day you can forgive me, because I'll never forgive myself. Thank you for giving my life a little meaning. I know you won't try to find me, but I still won't say where I'm going. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. But I wish you the longest, happiest life. I hope that a couple of years from now, I'll be driving and hear your voice on the radio. The thing with hope is, it usually stems from sureness. Yes, I believe in you and I know it's only a matter of time. I'm sorry I let you down.**_

_**I love you, so much. More than I've ever loved before, and that will never change. **_

_**Goodbye.**_

It felt so unromantic. But Zayn's foot was tapping and I knew we'd passed the point of no-return. This was the end, and I could never take it back.

We slipped out of the hospital without a fight. I'd been mostly unscathed in the crash, as Niall had taken the impact, but my insides still burned. Walking still hurt.

I was breathing, so why did I feel like I died as well?

Zayn opened the car door for me, pushing away my suitcase full of clothes. He'd swung by my-Harry's and Liam's-house and grabbed my stuff. I asked him to grab a baggy sweater of Harry's, just so I had one reminder that this whole dream had existed, and then we were gone.

Halfway to the airport, my phone rang, but I ignored it, letting the ringtone play over the radio.

"It might be Harry," Zayn said from the front seat. "Louis…this is your last chance."

The phone stopped ringing. A few moments later, a notice for a new voicemail popped up. I should have deleted the damn thing, but I wanted to hear his voice. Just one last time. Just once. Like one more sell. One more drug. One more time seeing Parker.

I was so full of shit.

"….Louis, come back." I choked back a sob at his desperate, wild tone. "Please come back! God, I had no idea. The doctors just told me everything, about the drink in your system and I know why Niall must have insisted on driving. You were in no state to….and I said all those awful things…babe please come back! I can't lose you too. I love you, and I'll do anything…just name it and I'll-"

He was cut off. I smiled against the tears, let myself be awash by the kindness in his tone. Whoever he eventually chose to be with would be the luckiest bastard in the whole damn world, and I would hate him and know that he didn't deserve Harry.

But I couldn't be with Harry because of pity. He still said all those things back in my hospital room, and he must have meant them. They didn't disappear because I'd been attacked.

Just like me saying sorry to him didn't erase the fact that I'd fucked his life up.

At least I heard him tell me he loves me. One last time.

"Pull over here," I demanded.

William obeyed without question. How funny, really, that I used to curl my lip at his name. Shows how much has changed. We stopped on the shoulder of a bridge, overlooking steely gray waters. A few cars honked behind us, swerving. One older guy flipped us off.

I got out and stood so that I could see over the railing.

"You aren't thinking about jumping, are you?" Zayn asked, only half-joking.

"No. I just need to get rid of one last thing."

I drew my phone up to eye level, at the exact moment that Harry started to call again. All of me wanted to answer it, tell him I'd be back as soon as the traffic would allow. Back into his arms. Back home. I never got to eat those cookies. But it didn't change anything. Niall was dead. Reggie was dead. Gemma was dead. Luca was dead. Zayn and I had always been dead on the inside.

How many more lives would I destroy if I stayed?

I tossed my phone over the edge, not staying to watch it hit the water. I slid back into the car and pressed my head against the cool glass. I'd hardly noticed how cold it was outside, all the people bundled in coats.

It looked like spring wasn't coming as soon as we thought.

"Let's go," I said when William made no signs to merge back into traffic.

"Whatever you say," he laughed, shifting the car back into gear.

I felt the distance growing, between one life and the next, felt the tearing of my life being split in two.

As we pulled up at the airport, I swear I heard it; one final rip.

And then I was torn entirely in half, with half my heart still sitting on mine and Harry's bed, flipping through the channels as he read his magazines. The other half of me retreated, handing my passport to a cheerful flight attendant. Half of me vanished into the clouds, replaying that last message one last time.

I love you.


	4. Part 4

**Part IV: Knowing**

_Because _

_I thought I saw a sign somewhere between the lines._

_Maybe it's me, maybe I only see what I want._

_And I still have your letter just got caught between_

_Someone I just invented, who I really am and who I've become._

_**-Mariana's Trench, Good to You**_

_The sun is setting faster, the night is getting colder. The tears have almost literally frozen on my cheeks._

"_That's almost the worst of it, Mum. I had seen telly shows, you know…about rape victims. How they all fell into two categories; denial and loathing. I already hated myself, but a part of me still refused to think that me, a grown man, could be….could have that happen to them."_

_Far off, a car door slams. A couple of children begin squealing in delight over something. I really needed to get going before someone caught me. I doubted Harry or Liam would be stopping by here, but just in case…._

"_I didn't know how to react to what happened to me," I explain to her. "The more I thought about that moment, the more suffocated I felt. Zayn woke me up from so many nightmares, stayed awake with me through many terrible nights. It only took a few months, when we got back into selling, that William schemed up this new idea for money. Zayn thought I'd react in the opposite way."  
I crack a smile, remember him shaking his head at William in what he thought was a discreet way. _

"_He thought it would make things worse, throwing myself back into a place where I would be taken advantage of daily. I'm so ashamed to tell you, Mum, but I stopped caring. I'd already been destroyed, so why not get something out of it? I just kind of snapped….and then there wasn't any going back for me."_

**New York, York**

**America**

**November 2015**

My alarm woke me from the latest nightmare. The clock told me it was around eight, which meant the sun had already gone down but I still had time to get ready.

So back to the night life, back to working until the moon became shy of the sins it watched and sunk away into the tops of roofs, it's moonlight spilling away into unused chimneys. William's hand on my waist was the first sensation I felt as my mind woke itself. His bitten fingernails dug possessively into my hip bones.

I'm not yours, I wanted to say. Get off. I didn't move from under his grasp though.

Zayn, across the room, snored softly, his arm thrown over his eyes. Yesterday, a client lost his temper once the price arose and kicked the shit out of him. The old me would have scolded him, would have found the guy and beat the shit out of him before taking Zayn far away from this place. The new me handed him a bag of frozen peas as he stumbled through the door.

When I was beaten, I hated the smell of them through the cold plastic. I preferred the steamed vegetables.

The alarm didn't wake William, but his own internal settings would rouse him soon enough. Before he could decide he wants a quick fuck before I go to work, I slipped away from him and tip toed to where Zayn slept, huddled on the large couch in our master bedroom. When William first showed us the flat, all wide arms and sparkling eyes, I'd just stared at him and asked, "Why the fuck do we need a couch this big when we have a big ass bed right there?"

He'd laughed, ruffled my hair like I'd made a joke, and showed Zayn to his room. Not that it mattered. Zayn always ended up sleeping nearby. I think he hated being alone more than I hated having to sleep with William.

"Zayn?"

I prodded him with my foot before giving in and diving under the covers with him. The snows were so cold, I could barely stand them here. New York was unforgiving.

"Lou?" he mumbled, moving his arm away. Once he confirmed it to be me and not some faceless man, his body drained of tension. "Is it time for work already?"

"Unfortunately. Let's go before William gets up."

That plan set him in motion. We pulled on tight black jeans and thick hoodies. We must appear sensual and alluring to customers but like innocent adults to any passing police. The balance was tricky, sometimes, but Zayn and I finally found a way to pull it off-one part of us must appear sexual. Winter, we tried to highlight our legs or our faces. Usually our legs, since our faces are pinched with bruises and lined with weariness.

Zayn pulled on a Reggie original beanie-which stabbed at my heart-and led the way out the door.

I had been away from Harry for over a year and a half. I'd left him in March, 2014, and now we were close to December of 2015. So close to two years, two miserable, dark years.

Over that time, we'd built up a reputation, had been almost marked by William. People knew us when we walked in rooms, knew how expensive we were. We no longer slept in a crammed apartment, but instead in a luxury flat. Our jeans alone cost more than I'd made in a month selling drugs.

William even appreciated how well we sold, his drug dealing slowing to a steady trickle as he built up a new business. Prostitution.

Because of our fame, Zayn and I never had to stand on a desolate corner, turning our heads and waiting for a cop to be a customer in disguise. Instead, we attended parties that would have made me drool with envy two years ago, and we waited as the fancy gentlemen bid over us in the corner of the rooms. Their trophy wives chatted on, oblivious as they discussed the color schemes of the room.

That night, we were heading to a small birthday party of a man named Sebastian, who'd become famous for inventing a new social network that had teen girls in a tizzy. I never really enjoyed the internet, even though we had the fastest hook up our money could buy back at the flat. Tonight Zayn and I could make a couple thousand a piece; many important models and a few businessmen would be showing.

For the duration of the day though, we'd go shopping.

That was the funny thing about New York, that all I knew to do with my money was to buy more clothes that will draw people in and make me more money. When I stopped and thought about it, I became overwhelmed with the realization that I spent over a year working in a pointless circle.

I tried not to think much.

Zayn and I headed to the all night diner close to our flat, where an elder woman named Barbara greets us. She knew our names, faces, and what we preferred on certain days. She placed down a plate of blueberry pancakes and orange juice before I could even pick up the menu.

"You're a doll," Zayn laughed at her.

She joined in laughing with us and gave him his plate of eggs and bacon.

After she left, Zayn pulled a newspaper from the nearby rack and began reading. He always announced the headlines to stories he thought I might find interesting, even though I never found the news interesting.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you," I would say, mouth full, "but I don't care."

"Americans are weird," he muttered as a reply. "We've been here…what, two years in a couple of months? And I still can't wrap my head around how silly the way things are here."

"Oh yeah, so silly," I replied so sarcastically. Honestly, my life in America was just as shitty as my life in England. All that changed was now I could sit around and reflect on my shitty life without having to worry about bills or anything.

"You're doing that one thing, where you're annoyingly sarcastic. Do you want to be shopping alone?" Zayn peered at me sternly over the newspaper. He got this easy. He knew from the start that his chances of being with Liam were so slim, and when we left he acknowledged that they were nonexistent. Liam would always be caught up in Niall in some way or the other. With a shocking amount of grace, he had adapted to our new lives and had made William insanely proud. No, I didn't get as much money as Zayn, didn't work as hard, didn't have the ability to forget like he did or forgive the people that hit me, but William still liked me better.

Lucky me.

"No, I'd rather not go shopping alone. I'd rather not do anything alone," I admitted after a moment. It was true. The more I was alone, the more I started thinking terrible things. The more likely I was to cut again. I'd started again a year ago, until William saw and threw a tantrum about me damaging the only think making him money. I hated him. But I did stop for the most part, saving it for moments when I thought I'd break if I didn't do something.

That's why I couldn't be alone for long.

When I was alone, I remembered Harry in all the ways that my mind will allow. His smell, the feel of his hair between my fingers…and when I was alone I had no one to distract me.

"Louis," Zayn said gently, snapping me away from my thoughts. "Bad place. Stay away from it."

I didn't want to tell him that thoughts of Harry were the only good place I had left. Visiting him in my hand just had bad side effects.

"Hurry and I eat," I sighed. "I want a new pair of boots."

"You know what we would have done with all this money before?" Zayn asked, setting the paper down. From somewhere deep in his pocket, his phone began ringing. He ignored it.

"How would we spend that money?" I asked, taking the bait.

"Bought a few new tattoos."

"William says-"

"No more. I know. But honestly, Lou, we have so many will he even notice a couple more?"

We stared at each other from across the table, and for the first time in a long while I felt with a dull sense of excitement. A new tattoo.

"Let's do it."

In downtown New York, there were several shops to pick from, but we ducked into the first we saw that stayed open late. There were friends I had known before that took to a certain tattoo artists, like we had to Kelvin. There were some that appreciated any art, really. We had to settle for becoming the latter as we studied the stuff on the wall. Most of it was stereotypical; stars, naked women, pirate junk, and basically everything drawn up in the traditional tattoo style with bold colors and lines.

I flipped through one of the art books on the counter while the owner came out from the back and chatted with us. Zayn always had an inclination for stories, so at his encouragement the owner told us about how he came from overseas, near London, and hoped his art with catch on more here. I liked the style in the book more than the examples on the wall. A good chunk of his portfolio was realistic, beautiful shadows and intricate details. Near the back, the details drained to the side, some features were missing from the sketches.

"These are things that I'd love to work on, and eventually tattoo," he explained as Zayn studied a picture of two skeletons dancing. From underneath his desk, the artist pulled out a few more designs in a folder.

"These are about done as well….."

The second my eyes landed on the middle picture, I knew I wanted it.

"That's the one," I said, pointing. If I were to get it, it would be my largest tattoo by a long shot, taking up a majority of my back. Yet I wanted it, knew that it would fit perfectly over my skin, over my faint muscles.

The owner spared me a wry smile.

"That's one of my favorites, but I'd have to draw it up and that would take a few hours…it's meant to be a full back piece."

Exactly where I wanted it.

"I'll take it."

For a moment, he studied me, like we might be joking about this whole thing, before giving a shake of his head.

"Okay, the real problem is here that I would have to charge a hefty price for it. That's a lot of shading, a lot of gold coloring…."

I smiled crookedly, for once not entirely bitter about having an abundance of money.

"Do you have any idea who we are?" Zayn asked playfully.

As if he'd ever ask such a question seriously.

A tattoo shop owner wouldn't know anything about us. He was entirely underneath the class of work we were on. But I didn't care. I wanted the tattoo.

Zayn and I went shopping in case William asked us where we'd been and what we bought, but we mainly were trying to drain away the time the owner had allotted himself to finish the stencils.

I threw down four hundred American dollars for a pair of boots that apparently had some designer label on them, but they looked like ever pair of boots I'd seen in every other store. The cashier sputtered in disbelief when I pulled out a platinum card and tossed it her way. She'd been eyeing us from the second we walked in, half with a flirty interest and half with a certain snobbery that must have stemmed from the thought that, with our tattoos and piercings, we didn't look like the type to even know the store existed.

Zayn and I always received this type of reaction. No one ever believed that we lived so luxuriously. Afterwards, Zayn bounced around, trying to find a new leather jacket. I think he enjoyed the price tag game, asking for something more expensive each time an assistant brought out a new jacket. They'd get so mad when, after handing him the best they had, Zayn would roll his eyes and ask, "Is this it?"

In the end, he bought four new jackets.

After a couple of hours of mindless wandering, we made our way back to the shop, where our new friend was finishing up the last touches.

Zayn wanted the two dancing skeletons, but asks that the feminine features are removed from one of them, and that he replace the rose with a flower crown.

When he asked this, I cut him a sideways glare. Thinking about Liam would be just as bad for him as thinking about Harry was for me.

"It's already done," Zayn said stubbornly. "So stop with the look."

He went first, since his wouldn't be but a couple of hours and mine might extend into two sessions.

"It just depends on the swelling," he explained, apologetic. I didn't have enough energy to explain that I used to work in a tattoo shop, that I understood just fine. Yet if I brought that up, more questions might have been asked. I couldn't say Harry's name out loud, not to anyone. I did my best to not even think of him.

The skeletons went up Zayn's side, their skulls stopping halfway up his ribs.

The placement was flattering, and he'd been lacking in anything on that side of his body anyway. After he finishes, I settled in the chair and stared at the original picture of my future tattoo while the artist works on the placement.

It was a Peter Pan design, all silhouettes and gold stars and deep shading as the night sky met water. The silhouettes of Peter and Wendy would be over the moon, near my right shoulder. An intricate swirl of clouds and stars would cover the rest of my back, until it turned into water around the dip of my back. There, he would tattoo the shadow of a pirate ship. The whole scene took up the entirety of my back beautifully.

Waiting to see the end result had me anxious.

There were so many little bits that take a great deal of focus, though, so I forced myself to take deep breaths and not fidget.

"Not quite angel wings, huh?" Zayn asked, smiling ruefully.

"I like this better, honestly. The angel wings were a little mainstream."

Zayn chuckled.

"You sound like a hipster. But why Peter Pan?"

I looked back down at the picture in my hands, studying the outline of Peter and Wendy flying away with a trail of gold following in their wake.

"Because Peter and Wendy had a good run. And when she left, Peter never grew up. He was permanently in a state of remembering her, but that didn't mean he had to move on, grow old with someone else. I want to be like that. It's not that I won't change; I know I will. But I will never really move from that time. I can't imagine where I'd go, honestly."

Zayn reached out and took my hand, rubbing at the back with his thumb in a soothing manner. We didn't say anything else.

It wasn't weird to be holding hands with my best friend. We'd started relying on each other more than we normally would have, honestly. That should have scared me. Relying on someone, that is. But I couldn't hold my own weight anymore. If I didn't have someone holding me up, I might have collapsed. I might never try to get back up.

After our tattoos were finished, well into the night, it's time to head back to our flat and sleep the day away until time for party. When we got inside the flat, we were met with the sight of William talking on the phone, tossing dishes in the sink.

"He's yelling," Zayn pointed out needlessly.

"Yeah, let's get the hell out of his hair."

I led the way into our living room, pressing the on button for the telly. A good video game would calm me down. Then sleep.

I personally hated the parties, how posh an quiet they were, how people stood around sipping wine and looking far too bored to care so much about what they were wearing. Then came the part where we had to stand around while men bickered over who would spend the night with us. That sucked too.

After a good hour of yelling, William came into the living room and flopped down on the couch with a scowl.

"Ignorant people are running my business, I swear. I'll have to deal with Roger tonight, boys. He's messed up a dug order and I need that money. I should be back in time for the party, and I can escort you there, but you'll have to take it from there."

"We've got it, Will. You act like we've never done it before." Zayn sniggered as he crossed the finish line first in Mario Kart. He cheated.

"I know, I know. It's just such a good opportunity for us tonight. They put the list of confirmed people online, and there are a lot of famous people's lonely partners showing up. They'll need a good session and then they'll have their partner's money."

"We need to do something with our money," Zayn suggested, still kicking my ass in the game. "It's getting boring shopping all day."

I nodded in agreement.

"Then let me think on it." William rubbed at his face. "You two get some sleep, okay? I'll get back as soon as I can."

When he left, all the tension drained out of me. There was always a fear gnawing in me that he might want to have sex, might drag me in the bedroom that I hated so much. I hated the whole damn flat.

"We probably should go to bed," Zayn said with a yawn. "God forbid we look any more tired than we already do."

Despite my recurring nightmares, falling asleep was my favorite part of the night. I loved wrapping myself in the blankets, drifting away from reality in a little boat, getting further and further away from the shore….leaving William and Parker and Bumper all stranded, reaching out for me but not quite far enough.

'_Loubear….'_

My eyes slid all the way closed, and a relief befell me. I'd get a memory that night, not a nightmare.

_Harry sat on our bed, tugging his shorts on over a pair of black briefs. He looked good in black, good enough that he wore it just a little more._

'_We'll be late for yoga if you waste your time trying to find the blackest shorts you own,' he teased. _

'_I'm not!' I insisted stubbornly. I was, though, digging around, bemoaning the fact that all my black shorts were so washed out. 'If you wanted me to think rationally, you shouldn't have woken me up at the crack of dawn.'_

'_You're getting better at it, boo.' He twisted the ring I gave him around; today he wore it on his thumb. 'Do you want to come lie with me for a moment?'_

'_Duh,' I laughed. I never missed a chance to do so._

_We fell back against our pillows, both sighing in content. Folding into each other had always been so easy, such a synchronized movement. Then, his hands moved to touch my hips, gentle, until abruptly the grip was painful. _

'_Harry….'_

_He was holding me down, his breath reeked of alcohol. _

_Parker._

'_Get off me!'_

_I wasn't drugged in my dream, but Parker possessed an insane amount of strength as he tore at me, ripping me apart….my heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest…._

"Louis!"

A scream escaped my lips as I crashed, back into the conscious world, and found William glaring down at me.

"What's all that thrashing around about? You'll be late if you don't get a move on."

With a roll of his eyes, he left the room, leaving my shaking and wide-eyed. William had known what happened from the start. That didn't mean he cared.

As I woke myself, tried to forget the nightmare, Zayn slipped into the room and joined me on the bed. His doe eyes filled with sympathy.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah!" I replied quickly, with as much false cheeriness as I could inject. "Just have to get myself woken up and moving around you know. I'll forget it by the time we're done getting dressed."

Zayn nodded and slunk away to his own room to pick out some thousand dollar outfit.

Alone, I had to fight the urge to not reach around and scratch my back.

I had to give it the guy; he was talented. The tattoo fit so beautifully, and he'd managed to finish it in just one session. I didn't want whoever I slept with tonight to see a half-finished piece of art on my back, honestly.

Thinking about the tattoo kept me away from thoughts of my nightmare.

I needed a shower.

The water poured over me, loosening my muscles, working away the poison.

Before I moved in with Harry, I preferred showers to almost anything, but after a long day at the tattoo parlor I fancied a good soak in the bubble bath. Night like those were my favorite, where Harry could almost read my mind and I'd come home to the bathroom filled with candles and dim lights.

He never started the water until I got home, though.

"I wouldn't want you to soak in the cold," he explained.

After I would sink into the bubbles, he'd come and sit the toilet seat and lid down, sit on top of it, and read plays to me. Harry had a slow face, said too many 'uhs' and 'erms', but when he read or sang his voice became a lullaby for me.

And that was always the order; he'd read a bit of a play for me, usually Shakespeare, and then let me request a song. Why Harry had never pursued a career in singing before me, I had no clue. He was brilliant, I thought. Often, he gave me chills.

Once out of the shower, I found William in our room, appraising my clothes with a pinched up face.

"Sebastian invited some A-List people," he reminded me for what felt like the hundredth time at least. "Sebastian himself is attractive and single enough that you might get his interest. If you can't manage that, though, it's fine. There are plenty of people that are going to be willing. And if you boys do real nice tonight, we can take a vacation. Maybe head over to Vegas for some fun. Or even back to England."

My stomach clenched at the mention of my home. I didn't want to go back there. Too many memories, memories I couldn't keep squashed for much longer. Already, I thought a dreamt of Harry far too much.

"That'll be nice," I said casually, instead of voicing a single fear of mine. "What would you prefer us in tonight?"

Zayn emerged from his room in nothing but Calvin Klein underwear, having heard my question. He waited with faux patience, a pair of jeans draped over his arm.

I guess he'd picked out something he thought would be great, but William's next words would contradict his choice.

"Elegant, lads. No piercings tonight. We have high class people who will be falling all over themselves at the sound of your accents. Let's show them what we've got, yeah? Just a little peak of your tattoos and that will be enough to entice them."

We followed him like puppies to Zayn's closet, where William pulled out fitted black slacks and a tight black shirt. After a moment of thought, he opens a box sitting on the shelf, picking through it before emerging with handful of real gold and silver. A watch is added, and then some diamond stud earrings, and lastly a necklace, and Zayn's outfit it done and perfected.

If we weren't getting dressed up to get undressed with stranger, I would be laughing right now at how stereotypically gay William really was sometimes.

Zayn worked at his piercings while William led me back to our shared room, stepping into the walk in closet.

"How do you feel about wearing your suspenders tonight?"

"If you think they'll look best, excited," I replied. It was always like that. Neutral but satisfying answers to questions that are rather pointless in the long run. William is no Bumper, but in the end he is still our boss. Somehow.

He decides on clothes that are similar to the ones I used to wear. They hardly look different, but the fabric has a large gap in price. He gave me a white button down, black skinny jeans rolled up at my ankle, black suspenders and a pair of black boots that Harry would have loved.

My mind snapped away from that name. I didn't know why I did that. No matter how much time passed, I still caught myself thinking such things. Things that Harry would like, things that he would laugh at. The types of clothes that he would like to see me wearing.

Most of all I thought about how disgusted he would be with the lifestyle I chose for myself. I knew though, straight from the beginning, that Harry Styles deserved better. I didn't deserve him at my best, and I certainly didn't deserve him now.

"You'll look great," William whispered in my ear. "Just do what you always do, yeah?"

"Yeah."

I sat on the edge of my bed while he got himself ready, darting in and out of the bathroom. Zayn was on the phone with Garret, I believe. Garret was a regular client of Zayn's. He used to be one of mine, but he took one look at Zayn and had this insane notion that he could get a prostitute to fall in love with him. Garret actually played for a pro football league here in America, but coming out as gay would mess up a lot for him. He loves Zayn as passionately as he could while keeping it all a secret.

I pitied him.

Zayn and I wouldn't love ever again. We already agreed on that much.

Zayn stepped in, jabbing at the screen of his phone and ending the call.

"Garret? He wants to meet up, right?"

Zayn scoffed and nodded.

"Of course. He wants to pay for me, then pay for the entirety of these off the wall dates. He takes up my whole schedule, I swear."

"He pays so well, though," William chipped in, stepping out of the bathroom. "You boys want to take a limo tonight?"

"Whatever." Zayn yawned. "I hope they serve that insanely expensive fruit tonight. I'm starving."

That's how sad we've become. Limo? Sure. Expensive bottled water from the Amazon? Why not?

Fruit shipped from overseas? Okay.

I couldn't remember the last time I ate actual junk food. The little pooch of stomach I'd always bemoaned had almost vanished.

I'd lost a great deal of my curves as my skin began to cling tighter to my bones, not exactly unhealthy but just enough that the muscles I'd never worked out showed. Not that Zayn and I did much differently, it was just that we could afford all this food that most celebrities ate on their diets. Lucky us.

My cheek bones were sharp now, my chin more pointed. I hardly recognized myself in the old photographs that Zayn still kept tucked in his books. Had I always been laughing? Or in the act of pranking someone?

Had I really been happy?

Sometimes I wondered if every moment I had with Harry had been an extended dream.

I drifted over to my nightstand and opened the top drawer, where I kept an excessive amount of junk. Some of the junk was actually expensive gifts that clients give me after the wad of cash.

After all, Garret isn't the first to try and win the heart of a prostitute. Why they worked so hard for us, I had no clue. Maybe it's a typical male possessiveness, that they were being forced to share something valuable, but they wanted it to be theirs and only theirs.

I shoved the cluster of rings and gold chains out of the way and pulled out a toy from the very back.

The yellow Lamborghini that Harry had given me after my overdose. I slide it into my pocket, but placed my fingers on it from the outside. It's my reminder. Harry had been with me at some point, had loved me enough to remember a few joking words months into our relationship.

I used to joke so much about being rich.

As I slid into the limo waiting outside, I swore I'd give anything to be climbing into the truck Harry had bought for me. I'd would have given anything to be listening to the mixed cd he'd made me one time instead of poking at the expensive, built in iPod.

"Can't we just play the radio?" Zayn moaned. "I'm so sick of all this garbage."

"The radio will be playing the same stuff," William argued, but he waved his hand at our chauffeur to change it to a popular radio station.

I've been told all my life that change will come when you least expect it.

For nearly two years, I'd worked myself in circles, building up a pile of money that I really had not the faintest clue what to do with. To be fair, the point of so much in life is to find love and then find money to get by on. I'd found love, lost it. And now I had my money. I'd done it backwards, twisted around, and I was miserable.

But I'd tricked myself into thinking I was okay. To an extent I was, so numb and hollow that I could stuff a few smiles in and call myself okay.

Then I heard the smooth voice of a radio deejay float through our speakers.

"It's cold here in New York, but we're playing some hot new songs to get everyone warmed up!"

William grunted; he hated the radio.

"Next up we have an artist causing quite a stir with his good looks and heartfelt lyrics. He's sold out in Europe, and is now here to take over America. Hold on, ladies, because here is Harry Styles with his new single, 'Don't Let Me Go'."

My mind shattered into a thousand pieces. It was wrong.

A different Harry.

It couldn't be the same one, couldn't be the Harry I'd known. Not under all the circumstances….I would have heard about him if he was selling out shows back home. My stomach clenched with fear. Then again, would I? I walked around so oblivious to everything. The only news I really heard was through my clients. They were all high class, knew too many concert pianists names and could list off the finest wines they'd ever tasted until you wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up.

The sports players didn't want to chat.

I would have heard about Harry.

Right?

Then the song started and I fell back against my seat.

It's unmistakably his voice.

Still so rough and warm, carrying the words and handing them back through the speakers with so much emotion that even William nodded, impressed.

The memories flooded me. How he would sneak up and hug me from behind as I attempted to bake. How he'd wake me up with kisses and gentle words. When we'd get bored and ride around in my truck. Those times we went to his yoga class and he'd place his hands on me, guiding my limbs into the correct stance.

I didn't think I'd hear his voice again.

"Louis?" Zayn's voice is sharp with alarm.

"Don't let me go….cause I'm tired of sleeping alone…."

Could he be talking about me? The last call I received, that voicemail….did he really miss me after all that was said? Hadn't he moved on to some rich, muscled boy yet? Was I really hopeful that the heartbreak in the song was for me?

William and Zayn remained quiet until the song trailed off, and the deejay returned.

"So sad! We've had millions of teenage girls hoping that the song was for them, and I do agree that Styles has this…well style about them. What do you think it is, Mick?"

His cohost talked for the first time.

"It has to be the hippie vibe. I mean, the flowers, the peace signs, and how relaxed and sweet he is. The media is having such a tough time attacking him, because there really aren't many flaws."

"So you believe that's why they are so quick to bring his sexuality into play?"

I blanched. Nothing was making much sense here. Harry had talked about his dreams of being a singer, had been preparing to get serious about it right before we broke up (if that's how you wanted to put it). But I had no clue that he would be working so hard. Or that he would so openly admit to his sexuality.

Then again, Harry was simply honest and pure. He wouldn't see a single problem with handing such a large part of himself to the world.

"I do, honestly. His preference for males has a lot of girls fuming with jealousy. They're hoping he's-at the least-bisexual. It's almost as if they cannot bear the thought of not having a chance."

"Everything will be pointless soon though, with the big engagement announcement, huh?"

Zayn's mouth fell open at the same time my chest collapsed in on itself.

Engagement? Harry? No-he couldn't be getting married. It had been less than two years since we'd been apart.

Nearly two agonizing years, two years I didn't know how I lived through. While I was trying to tape my life together, was he really promising himself to another man?

Perhaps I didn't have such a wide space to talk, seeing as I slept with guys several times a week and William almost nightly. That was different though, I told myself stubbornly, I did it because I had to, or I wouldn't have money and a very angry boss. What the hell else would I do without something to distract me from Harry?

To be fair, I couldn't be angry at whoever Harry was to marry; I'd always said he could do better. Maybe he had.

The radio hosts were still talking.

"Yes, and I can tell Aaron is not happy that his fiancé won't be able to meet up with him in the states as early as planned. He just added three new gigs onto his already packed tour. How about that, huh?"

A scattering of laughter and clapping sounded from the speakers.

I sank back into the cushions, closing my eyes. So this was it. Any faint, scant dreaming I had about Harry somehow returning to me, telling me that he only wanted me, dissipated.

I was wrong, I decided instantly.

This world doesn't deserve Harry. And whoever Aaron is, he never will either.

At the party, I sulked in a corner and tried not to doze off on the spot.

Sebastian and I know each other from these events, so he did a great deal of trying to cheer me up. To no avail, I'll add. All the wounds that had finally begun to scab over had been clawed open. What I really wanted then was to go home and get on our laptop. I want to Google Harry, see where his career started. When Aaron came into play. How long did Harry wait after I left? A month? Two?

Where had I been when he changed his life, his mind, his future? The most shameful thing of it all was that I knew I'd been with someone, someone I shouldn't have been with.

I tried to think better of him. It's only fair that he moved on. I walked out of his life, kept walking when he tried to call me back. I just felt so worthless, so stupid. I kept messing up everything for us, and I just thought he deserved a shot at life without me. He was so young, he barely knew what a healthy relationship was. First Nick, then me….

"Lou."

Zayn's face was near mine, eyes wide and worried.

"You've been staring at nothing for several minutes now, mate. If you don't get to work, William is going to skin you, and I don't know how you feel about all the décor, but we're lacking a rug in front of the fireplace.

"Har," I said. "Sorry, I've just been out of sorts."

"I know. You have to forget about it, though. He's living his life and you have to live yours, okay? So tell me, if you could be doing anything you wanted right now, what would it be?"

I could tell it was only half a joke. Not for the first time, I remember how into theatre I had been during mine and Harry's best days. I'd only asked Zayn to pick up vital things before I left, which meant my books were still there. Harry might have thrown them away at that point.

"I want to be a drama teacher," I said, answering Zayn's question. His face fell as he acknowledged the unlikeness of it all. That dream belonged to someone else. How twisted was it that all my money can't fix my mistakes, the flaws of my past? I used to believe money would fix almost everything.

"But I can't," I tacked on, and Zayn visibly relaxed.

"And why's that? I mean, in a few years you can build up some savings…"

"I couldn't leave you alone in this life," I teased, slinging my arm around his shoulder. "You'd be so lost without me. Or stuck with Garret."

He groaned and shrugged my arm away.

"Garret asked me to go on a date tonight. I just told him, real blunt like, that I had another guy to fuck. I hate it when he gets pissy at me for doing my job."

We both propped ourselves against the wall, watching the 'party' around us. The music cascaded soft and elegant around the crowd, the wine sat lined up on a table near the back, and the clothes hung on skinny frames and broad shouldered men.

It wasn't much of the party that I used to prefer. Everything about it, from the carpet to the drapes to the original paintings hanging on the wall, was just so….posh.

Zayn's next question caught me off guard.

"What do you think Liam's doing now?" he asked, his voice even softer than the string quartet playing in the background. "Do you think he's recovered by now? If he's still living in that house? Do you think that he ever tried for a more permanent job?"

"He might be with Harry," I replied, equally as gentle. "They might be eating some cheap take out together and laughing at how Harry actually made it and he's got all these people vying for his attention. Can't you imagine him being overwhelmed at his concerts?"

Zayn smiled, eyes going soft. We could both see it, so clearly too. Harry and all his innocent wonder, weaving a new flower crown while Liam read absurd online comments from girls aloud to him. I wanted to read them myself, to see just how much success he's been having, see how much people loved him. I wished him the absolute best, I truly did.

"I can see it all. And Liam might just be the sort to insist on being the manager." Zayn sighed wistfully. "I wish we were still with them."

"Would you trade all this to be sleeping on a bus? To be roadies and never having your own home?"

He answered exactly how I would.

"In a heartbeat. Now let's get out there. One good night and we have us a vacation, eh?"

We dispersed, weaving into the light throng of people in search of someone to flirt with. Zayn was more adept at finding men that are hiding their sexuality. He knew how to dig them out, then make a right show of seducing them until they'd pay anything to get rid of the urges they've been ignoring.

I never liked working that hard for my money. I could usually tease some man that's overly eager until he'd be begging for a night.

It was all so easy, so habitual, to scan the room and spot a boy with swept up blond hair and a single gold hoop earring. He lounged in the corner sipping at a glass at a wine, lips twisted in a scowl.

I smiled as I looked him over, trying to decide what tactic would be best.

Make them laugh, I decided. It never goes wrong.

I sauntered up and stood with my hand on my waist, blatantly checking him out. Men loved to feel like every piece of them were special. Everyone did.

"Aren't you just the life of the party?"

Slowly, his eyes swept down to meet mine.

So he was taller than I thought, but I could work with that, make jokes about him being giant.

There were just certain nicknames I needed to avoid that were already taken.

I noticed then that his eyes were bright green-a green so familiar. I cleared my throat and look away.

"I can't help it," he said, voice smooth and lofty. He was from England. "I must admit, I'm not having the best night of my life."

I peeked back at him, deciding to focus on his lips instead of eyes. It was more sensual that way, and it didn't hurt me as much.

"You have the most amazing lips," I purred. "You could be a model."

A light flush crept over his face, and I knew I'd hit a good spot. This man loved the compliment, soaked it in with pride.

"I-I am. I modeled with Burberry and now I model new fashions here in America. I'm missing my home, to be honest."

An actual spark of curiosity struck me; how did he end up over here? It sounded as if he had a good set up back home.

"I'm from England, too. I mean, I guess you can tell. I don't miss it though."

"Bad memories?" he smiled ruefully.

"Something like that," I told him, doing my best to sound indifferent.

This conversation was slipping out of my control, and I hated that. Perhaps it was time to skip the idle chit chat and just get to the point of all this. If we talked anymore, I might look back into his eyes. I hated that he has eyes so similar to Harry's.

"Do you want to go back to your place?" I blurted out.

Smooth, Tomlinson. So smooth.

My assertiveness threw him, I could tell. For a moment, he mumbled half-hearted excuses and clutched his glass of wine tighter. Plucking up the best of my courage, I peered into his eyes, looking up through my lashes.

"You won't regret it," I whispered. "And for the ride I'll give you, you won't even have to pay that much."

He'd just started taking a drink, maybe to distract himself, but at my phrasing, he spat it out. Rather ungracefully. His face turned all red, his eyes round with disbelief.

"I don't….I….."

The inner dilemma bore on for only a second more before he swallowed heavily. Setting his glass down, he fished his keys from his coat pocket and nodded his head at me.

Success.

As we wove our way towards the front door, I caught a glimpse of Zayn with some hungry looking bloke hanging on his every word. Looks like we'd be getting our vacation. I was going to insist on Vegas instead of a trip home, though.

I clambered in a Mercedes while my newest client fumbled with his phone. He checked the text messages before sighing pointedly.

"Expecting something?" I asked, as expected. Some people wanted a therapist and a prostitute bundled up in one. They got charged extra for holding us up.

He shook his head and reached in the back seat for something.

"I am. Was, I guess. But I really need to stop."

He shoved a beanie on his head, leaving only a few wisps of blond hair protruding. I was about to ask why he's wearing it when he can just turn the heat up, but I know that would have been rude so I was almost glad I never got to ask.

Because I started staring at that beanie and I knew it. It was hand knitted, with a crooked little red heart on the side.

"What?" he asked.

I closed my mouth and swallowed. I'd been staring.

"Nothing it's just…where did you get that beanie? I really like it."

I didn't like it. I had slaved over that damn thing and had loved it because I'd watched Harry's face light up. But there was no way…not a chance…

"It's my fiancé's," he grunted. "He's always had it."

I felt as if a weight has been dropped onto my lungs, but he went on, oblivious, becoming more and more angry with each syllable.

"But he never lets me wear it, I swear. Doesn't even want me fucking touching it. He's probably gone crazy now, being on tour without it. But I'm sick of competing with Louis fucking Tomlinson. The druggie bastard runs out on him after getting Harry's best friend killed, and I'm still competing with him. If that isn't fucked up, I don't know what is."

I could tell the subject of, well, me was a very sensitive one for him.

The words spilling from his mouth had been spoken before, I could tell. And while a part of me was fast breaking and my heart had frozen in mid-beat, I was so nosey that I knew I'd be using this situation to my advantage.

"I'm sorry," he said, heaving a grand sigh. "You aren't a therapist."

_Fuck no I'm not. If it's that bad, you could afford one and let me do my own job. _

"But Harry's friend will not let me speak badly about him, and no one else seems to get it. I have to rant to someone."

"How long were they together?" I asked casually. The man-whom I assumed must be Aaron-started the car and shook his head curtly.

"Harry never speaks much of him. Less than a year, I know. About as long as we've been together. The thing is, I don't even feel like I'm with Harry. When we go out somewhere, he barely holds onto my hand. When we are at dinner, I swear he's looking right through me. I wish I knew how to get his attention properly. Proposing was almost a joke. When I did it, I honestly didn't think he even heard me. He just goes along with whatever happens, and I hate it."

Aaron laid his head on the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I feel like he's with me to fill Louis's spot. Does that make sense?"

"No," I answered honestly. "It doesn't. If Harry wanted to be with Louis, don't you think they'd be together?"

"Oh no." Aaron bit out a harsh laugh. "He begged precious Louis to come back, after all he did! And Louis just vanished. No official goodbye, no nothing! I love Harry, I really do, and I do my best to treat him like royalty, but it's not enough. Don't you see how helpless I feel, competing with a lowly piece of scum that he hasn't spoken to in years?"

I really should have been mad that Aaron was dogging me, insulting me, but on the strangest level I sympathized with him. Even stranger, Aaron is good looking and seemed to be sincere. If he weren't about to be cheating on Harry, I might think that he had a chance at deserving Harry one day.

I mean, he was already more honest I'd ever been.

But he had let me in his car, was shaking his head and pulling out of the parking lot. We were going to wherever he was staying, and he would be cheating on Harry in less than an hour.

I felt myself splitting into half again. Would this mess up their relationship?

Did it really matter if Harry didn't even act like he wanted to be engaged, though?

He must have, another part of me argued. Harry wouldn't skip off and get married to someone he couldn't stand. Everything was all so wrong right now.

Aaron pulled up to a fancy hotel, checked his phone, and grumbled to himself a little.

"We have a problem," he said, this time where I could hear him. "Just go along with it, okay?"

"A problem? Of what kind?"

I was becoming impatient with the way he ignored me, but before I could protest he was sliding out of the car and handing the keys to a valet.

Once I was out, he grabbed at my hand and dragged me along behind him. Not that I'm a stranger to abuse or being treated like a misbehaving dog, but from Harry's fiancé it reached a new level of degrading. I ached to pull my hand away and give him a good kick to the face.

I followed all the same, gripping onto a faint connection with Harry. Had he and Aaron ever had sex? Did Aaron know that Harry's first time was with me?

Aaron knew plenty, I had learned, but did he know everything? I hoped no, that Harry would have kept me to himself. I really didn't want to touch this man, but my curiosity was driving me forward and through the sliding glass doors.

Aaron led the way up to a suite, tapping his foot anxiously in the elevator but hesitating outside of what I assumed was his door.

"Why are we-"

He shushed me and turned the door knob, peeking in and letting out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, come in, but hide."

"Hide?" I demanded. "Are you being serious right now? You aren't paying me to play games."

From down the hall, the elevator makes a light 'ding' and Aaron groaned.

"Yes I will. Now if you want your damn money, hide."

Without warning, he shoved me towards the closet and shut the door behind me.

I huffed and sit down beside his shoes. They were all girly boots, some studded and some with a light dusting of glitter. What terrible style. How did I get myself in these messes? One minute I'm dragging through each day and the next I'm playing hide and seek with Harry Style's fiancé.

My life really had become a joke.

The door opened again, and Aaron squeaked out a greeting.

After some fumbling around, the bed squeaked a little as someone sat down.

"Why are you acting so weird?" the newcomer asked.

Hearing his voice, my chest restricted, lingering over it, playing it over again once, twice, before my mind could process it.

Liam.

Liam Payne was here, in New York. Out of all the ways my day could have gone, that was the absolute last thing I could have expected. That morning, Harry was a festering wound, but one that I'd managed to ignore, shut away behind a closed door.

Now, I'd realized that he'd made it in the music industry, had gotten engaged, and his fiancé was currently waiting to sleep with me.

Oh and now Liam had sauntered in.

I felt a sense of vertigo at everything happening in such a rush. I must have been dreaming again.

Not in a million years could I have guessed that I would ever hear Liam's voice again. Then he was just feet away, his voice deeper and older.

"Is that Harry's beanie?" he demanded. "What the hell, Aaron? You know he's been calling me, begging me to look through my suitcase to find it?"

"I didn't think it mattered-"

"He's called every airline that he's been in contact with in the past week!" Liam's voice rose to a scream. I wished I had some popcorn, because it was fast turning into a movie worthy moment. "Asking them to keep an eye out for it! And you've had it the whole time?!"

"It's just a fucking beanie!" Aaron screamed back. I almost wanted to muffle my laughter. It really was all so ridiculous. It _was _just a beanie. One I worked hard on for him, but still.

"You can go buy him a new one for about three dollars," Aaron hissed. "Slap a heart on it and he won't know the difference."

"He'll know." Liam's tone was icy. "And he's going to be extremely pissed. You have got to get this obsession with Louis out of your head-"

"But it's not fair!"

I sat in the closet for a heartbeat longer, and then realized how silly this all is. Why was I hiding in a closet? I mean, Liam was my friend for nearly a year, and if I wanted to talk to him, what would it hurt? The least I could would be to let him know that Zayn and I were doing okay.

I pushed the door open and poked my head out. Liam's back was to me. His hair had grown out a little more, but he must have buzzed it again not too long ago. The muscles on his arms were far more pronounced.

With a shiver, I wondered how Harry had changed. God forbid he got any taller.

Aaron noticed me and opened his mouth as if to yell at me. No sounds came out, so I took the liberty by standing and clearing my throat. Liam whipped around, a snarl on his lips. It took about fifteen seconds for him to realize who I was.

"No way," he said hoarsely.

"I can explain-" Aaron began.

"Louis!" Liam cried, throwing his arm around me. His arms, so much larger, enveloped me. Over his shoulder, I watched Aaron's eyes grow rapidly darker.

"Louis Tomlinson?"

I nodded curtly as I hugged Liam back. If I were Liam, I'd be taking a swing at me.

I'd hoped two years apart was enough time for him to begin to forgive me, and maybe I was right.

"Louis," Liam said again, loosening his hold. He held me at arm's length, sweeping his eyes over me critically. "You've gotten so thin….but you look amazing. We have so much to discuss….where have you been you fool?"

I could tell he wasn't really insulting me. Liam's eyes were glowing, shining with unshed tears. I couldn't believe it. Liam has missed me?

Did that mean Harry might as well?

"I-I have a lot to explain," I admitted.

"He's a prostitute," Aaron butted in.

His fists were clenched at his sides, but he had kept his distance thus far. "Was begging me to take him home. Him and his dark haired friend were hanging over every guy at the party!"

Liam's eyes flashed to mine again. He should be pissed now, knowing that I ran away from Harry and had been selling my body to random people. But love would fool me every time.

"Zayn's here with you?" Liam whispered. "As in, a driving distance away?"

I gulped and looked back to Aaron. Every line on his face was harsh with suppressed anger, and I couldn't blame him. I was, somehow, the only competition he'd ever had. And he almost slept with me.

"Do you want to go back to my flat and talk?" I asked timidly. I fully expected Liam to laugh and say no, no way after everything I'd done.

After two years, you'd think he'd have a lot of unkind words for me. Instead of anything like that, he nodded and ushered me towards the door.

"Yes, of course! I'll call us a taxi. Harry is going to be thrilled. And Aaron…" he turned around, the warmth draining from his eyes. "You'd better call Harry and tell him you have that damn beanie before he has a breakdown."

"He won't need it," Aaron spat in response. "His loverboy is back and I'm just going to be old news, right?"

Liam shrugged and pushed me out the door.

"Honestly, mate, with your attitude I wouldn't blame him."

Aaron was screaming curse words as Liam shut the door and guided me down the hall, a hand on my back. The energy radiating from him was so invigorating; I hadn't felt such happiness or excitement from someone in so long. Of all my wildest fantasies about returning to Harry's life, that moment matched the best of them. Liam, not angry, welcoming me back as if I had never left. Telling me that Harry might actually want to see me.

On the elevator, his eyes stayed locked on my face.

"I can't believe it's you. We didn't even know if you were alive Lou….when Harry found out that Parker had…erm…anyway. He went manic. You vanished, your phone just cut off, and Zayn called me and said that he had to go, that he knew Niall would always come first. Hung up without me saying anything. Then you had both vanished, left Harvey turning in circles. We thought when we found your clothes gone that you had just skipped town…."

He kept this babble up the whole ride down, but my mind had frozen on one part in particular. Harry has not even been fully sure of me being alive. The whole time.

"He's been terrible, Louis. So terrible. We took him to counseling, but me and Harvey could only do so much. Anne was worried sick. Then he started writing lyrics, people started noticing him, and we thought he'd be okay again. Of course, we realized all his songs were about you. But it was the healthiest way to cope. I'm so glad you're alive….not so glad with what you've been doing."

The smile evaporated into a delicate scowl.

"I guess Zayn is doing the same."

I nodded stiffly, feeling a rush of shame as he shook his head.

"Harry forgave you," Liam explained. "He was sorry the second he'd finished yelling at you. Harry and I…."

His eyes filled with tears again.

"We haven't been doing well without the two of you."

I stiffened, my ears hearing the confession but refusing to believe it. I couldn't have that much luck in one day. There's no way in hell….

Then my unbelievable day went a step further.

Liam's phone began to ring, and when he pulled it out I see Harry's name across the screen. Liam glanced at me as he pressed the green answer button.

"We found the beanie, Hazz," Liam said as a greeting.

I could hear him through the phone, his rough voice filled with sleep.

"Are you serious? Thank God."

I closed my eyes and did my best not to cry right then. I heard him, as if it were me on the phone, Harry talking to me.

Liam watched me for a second before answering.

"Yeah, Aaron took it in a jealous fit. I really don't know about him, Harry. He's a possessive jerk."

Liam's words were heartfelt. As if, after all that I've done, I might actually be better for Harry.

"He is," Harry agreed wearily. I could picture him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, his plump lips stretching around a yawn…. "But no one else is ever going to have me," Harry went on to say.

My stomach clenched. No, that's not right. I wanted to scream at him. No one deserved you, Harry. Not a damn soul. But I was selfish enough to want him to settle with me. I'd been adamant about giving him space, letting him grow and move on. But now he was so close, and I wanted him back. I wanted him to never see Aaron again.

I had to linger over the amount of fairness in the situation, though. If Harry being with just one other man had me crazy, what would Harry say if, and I do mean if, he ever heard about what I have been doing? He would be disgusted.

"Harry," Liam scolded. "Any guy would be lucky to be with you. I wouldn't settle for anyone when you could have just about anyone."

"I couldn't have Louis though, could I?" Harry asks. I heard the weak joking in his tone. Oh God, and the sound of my name in his warm, sleepy voice. My knees buckled and I slid against the wall of the elevator. I watched the numbers slide further down. The suite had been on a high floor than I'd first thought.

"You could probably have him," Liam said, looking down at me with concern.

"Well when you find him, let me know. I have to go to sound check right now, but I'll be close to New York tomorrow night, so call me and we can meet up for dinner."

"You don't want to go eat dinner with your fiancé?" Liam asked, almost teasing.

"No, but grab my beanie from him and bring it to me, okay? I don't really want to speak to him right now."

Harry hung up, leaving Liam with a smug smile.

"What are you so happy about?" I asked, a little breathlessly.

"Because you're going to dinner with Harry tomorrow. We are about to fix everything."

His eyes glazed over, as if he isn't simply speaking about Harry and myself, but maybe him and Zayn as well.

"Everything."

I don't say anything as we waited by the road, him hailing a taxi. I couldn't wrap my mind around how much he's changed, how strong and almost…dangerous…he looks. He's wearing this beat up aviator jackets and has gotten a few tattoos. There is still something unmistakably hippie about him though. Maybe the tie dye bandanna around his wrist, and the peace sign necklace tucked into his white shirt.

Or maybe I was seeing these parts of him because I knew they'd once existed, but they really didn't anymore.

"Li?" I asked, after I give the cab driver directions to my flat. "You aren't…mad?"

Liam shifted his weight, almost reluctant, but he shook his head.

"No, Louis. We were, especially at first. But you and Zayn….you two idiots…you've killed us. We knew that, after the doctor sat Harry down and told him what had happened to you, Niall would never let you drive. You were probably hysterical. No, Louis. We were sorry we weren't there for you. I was sorry that I led Niall on when we both knew we were falling apart. I was sorry I had messed with Zayn's mind. You were sorry, sorry enough to remove yourself from our lives entirely. And we were sorry we let you."

He smiled crookedly.

"I guess we all want a share of the blame, so our minds find excuses for it. But we tried. To find you, that is. Harvey clammed up and skipped town not long after you. Parker and Bumper have vanished. We didn't even know where to start…."

"I'm sorry," I said. "You have to understand how hard it was, messing up again and again. I didn't deserve Harry, I felt so nauseous at the thought that someone else could be with him, someone he might be happier with."

"It's always been you, Louis. No one else. But we're going to fix this, okay? I'm going to spend the day catching up with you, and then I'm going to send you in my place to see Harry."

I watched him look at the window, a soft smile on his face. He believed this can all be so simple, that we could collapse back into each other's lives like a folding fan, as if we'd never left spaces. Could it really be that simple, could we really fix things in one night after almost two years of silence?

"We can't fix it that simply," I said, voicing my fears.

"It wasn't ever really broken," Liam insisted.

Our flat was abandoned.

Zayn texted me around two hours after Liam stumbled in with wide eyes, asking again and again, "You really live here? Like, all the time?"

He was adorable in his disbelief. Harry wasn't the only one with more money than he knew what to do with. Harry sold his thoughts though, the most sincere and vulnerable workings of his mind that were, somehow, about me. I simply sold my body.

Zayn's text was short, simple. How everything was now; our relationships with our clients, our dinners, our lives. Everything was touch and go; we were restless to find the next thing.

He informed me that William would be spending a few nights with a client of his own, arranging a drug deal that had no effect on myself or Zayn.

A few minutes after the first text, I received another.

_**He's also booking us a vacation to Vegas. then one in the Bahamas. Said he's proud of us.**_

"Is that Zayn?" Liam asked from the couch. While I'd been straightening up around the place, he'd settled in with a bag of crisps in one hand and the remote in the other.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat. "He's probably heading back soon."

Liam perked up at that, and it was really all so sickening how hopelessly in love he still was, even after all this time, after all the silence and space. Liam still loved Zayn, enough to gloss over our new job and focus on how excited he was to see him again.

"Do you think he'll be upset to see me?" he asked, voice soft with vulnerability. "I know he ran away with you for a reason…"

"Because we were scared silly, mate. We are going to be scared for the rest of our lives that you and Harry both were going to realize how foolish you are to settle for hopeless, drug selling, drug addicted, fuck-ups when you could have European models or something. We'll always be scared that you're going to walk away."

"And we'll always be scared that you two will run away again. But I don't think this is the end, Louis. I think this is the start of something beautiful."

I tossed my phone onto the opposite couch, trying to find another argument. Liam was so hopeful, so sweet and kind and giving and he made me feel even worse for not trying to make me feel guilty.

"We are in a deep situation, Li. There's so much we'd have to break away from. So much we'd have to drop. Do you really think there's still hope for us, after everything? All the drugs, the lies, the death….do you really think Harry still wants me?"

My voice broke at the million dollar question. I'd been used, like worthless trash. And then I let my body be used in the same way, over and over again.

"Harry is always going to prefer you, Louis. Not out of choice, but more so out of necessity. He needs you just as much as he needs air, as much as he needs to sing. In fact, I think he needs you _to_ sing. No one ever really encouraged him to chase that dream, and maybe it's because he wasn't ready to. He had nothing to sing about until you broke his heart. So imagine how things will be once he's got you back where you belong?" Liam popped another crisp in his mouth casually, as if he hasn't just spouted some profound gem of knowledge. "Also, the poor lad is sexually starved. He won't let Aaron touch him."

I laughed, all the tension in me draining finally draining. That was more like it. I could wrap my mind around basic, primal desire. I couldn't wrap my mind around all the kind things Liam had said in regards to Harry and his feelings towards me.

But as I sat and watched Liam watch telly, I start to think about something. Okay, maybe I didn't deserve Harry.

But instead of running from him, I could work to deserve him. I could learn to cook for him and use my money to shower him with gifts and love and maybe one day I could make up for the two years of suffering I put us both through.

"It's not too late, you don't think?" I asked Liam.

Though his eyes remain fixed on the screen, his answer was sincere.

"Oh no. Never."

So then it was upon me, the big day where I would find out if everything would fall back into its natural order. I couldn't decide if I should vomit and get some of my anxiety out or not. Liam jumped a little at every creak of the door.

I want to tell him to calm down, that he'd know when Zayn is home, but I didn't dare douse his hopes. Instead I watched at his sweet little jumps and intakes of air, and I hoped Harry would be the same.

I thought about everything then, while I had time to, and I wasn't afraid or alone. I was no longer afraid to dig past the basic, habitual instincts that rested on the surface of my mind. Get up, drift around town, work, come home, try to fend off William, and then sleep. Repeat. Eat fancy salads and fruit in between. Drink that stupid water from the Amazon or some shit that William insisted on buying for us.

Yes, that was it, where I sucked in all my doubts and I tried to make it work. I thought I could be strong enough to leave him, to live without him, but I was wrong, and I wanted to celebrate being wrong with him.

The door gave a sharp click before being pushed open. Zayn stepped in, tossing his keys on the table and rubbing at his eyes.

"Louis," he called out. "I'm home!"

"Zayn," Liam breathed, as if it were a reflex. He breathed in Zayn's name as if were the most inviting sip of sunshine warmed air. If I weren't feeling so anxious to see Harry, I would have laughed at the look on Zayn's face as he stepped into the living room.

His eyes flickered to me, and then lock onto Liam's in astonishment.

"Do you care to explain, Louis?" he asked in a small voice.

I opened my mouth, but he shook his head. "I don't care to hear," he went on.

Then he was breaking all over, the cold falling from his eyes, his arms wrapping around Liam and fuck I didn't even remember him moving. He must have jumped. He was in Liam's lap, burying his face into his broad shoulders as if he can hide there forever.

"It's nice seeing you, too," Liam laughed, but I could tell how overwhelmed he was, that maybe he wasn't expecting for as much as his optimism showed.

"I missed you," Zayn mumbled. "More than I ever realized until just now. I dreamed you'd come find us…take us away from this hell…"

"I'm still here," I reminded them lightly. "But if I really must, I can go take a shower."

"You have been stinking," Zayn rushed in immediately, picking his head up from the crook of Liam's neck. "I haven't said anything, but it's getting ridiculous. See you in fifteen minutes."

I huffed, as if I'm offended, but really all their instant affection is a bit much. Before I gathered my clothes and ducked into the bathroom, Liam offered me his phone.

"If Harry texts me, just act like it's me. Ask him what time and stuff. Just be casual, yeah? I want to give the kid the surprise of his life."

"I love your surprises," Zayn breathed, kissing at Liam's neck. Oh, for God's sake.

"I'm going to go now. Please don't suck all the blood out of Liam's body, Zayn."

Zayn had the good grace to actually blush. That unfortunately put little to no waver in his actions. I left them so entwined in each other you'd think they were trying to become the same person. In the shower, as I waited for the ding alerting a new message, I thought that maybe love was not necessarily trying to be the same person, but learning how to live as exactly one force. Finding all the ways that your body fits against theirs, discovering how many blank spaces in your mind are filled with their words, their 'what if's'.

And when I left Harry, all my good, all the things keeping my afloat and sane were left behind. No, near the end of mine and Harry's run together, our relationship wasn't healthy. I let all my doubts and fears lead to such disastrous mistakes. But I'd grown. Not much, but enough to know the fault lines, to see where the distance had started to tear me to shreds.

What now, really, was all I wanted to ask Liam. Did I say hello, as simply as I would any other day? Did I start with an apology, for all the pain and harm? Or did I need to stop apologizing and grab him and kiss him like it's the last time I'll ever see him?

I thought through it all, and I couldn't offer any solid answers for myself. I could only hope Harry still cared for me as intensely as I cared for him, that all the pieces we'd been missing were still in each other.

No, Harry had never left me.

I slid against the bathroom wall, placing a hand to my chest.

He'd always been right here, his heart beating in time with mine, driving me straight into insanity. I could always feel his hands on me, his lips against mine. That is what love is. Never forgetting, never deviating from the idea that one day everything thing will fall right back into place. Love was that, feeling so intensely that you could close your eyes and taste their breath on your mouth.

He was driving me crazy, and he wasn't even there.

My body was trying to cope with the shivers coursing over me. For so long he'd been a forbidden thought, a crossed out corner in my mind. Now that I'd opened that door, the light was so overwhelming. All the quirks about him, the little habits he had that drove me crazy were flashing behind my eyelids. He was tattooed on the place where I couldn't quite reach.

My heart, my nerve endings, the insides of my eyelids, and the memory of his skin was branded on the tips of my fingers.

More than that, he was under my skin.

"I miss you," I said to the empty bathroom. The mirror was fogged up, the floor lick with water that escaped from the glass door, and the phone was buzzing with a new message.

I wiped away at the tears on my face-I don't remember how they got there-and picked up the phone.

_**I'm thinking things with Aaron are done. Can't do this anymore**_

I sucked in a gulp of air. That's sad for Aaron and all, but every selfish strain of my mind was vying for the answer to be because of me.

_**Why not?**_ I replied.

_**You know. How about Pierre's at nine tonight? I have so much to talk about**_

I wanted to hear it all, too. I wanted to hear whatever he had to say about anything. I'd listen to every damn story he wanted to tell that took an hour when it should have taken minutes. I'd give anything for that.

_**Can't wait : ) have some stuff to tell you too **_

_**Well I hope you'll explain how your grammar is so much better in such a short time. Cheers for you**_

I laughed, relishing the way it echoed back to me in the bathroom. I could hear his voice saying it all, and I could almost hear Liam's sass about how his spelling didn't suck, it was just text speak. We used to give him so much hell for it.

I stepped out of the bathroom and slid into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I didn't look so expensive anymore. More like I used to all the time, when Harry and I lounged around on rainy days. One by one, I put my piercings back in, feeling so much better. Better than I had in well over a year.

Zayn and Liam were in the kitchen when I found them, a pan of cookies baking in the oven as Liam sat at the table. Zayn sat himself on the counter, which I found terribly unhygienic and I would have bet all the jewelry I own that Liam did to, but he was still too love struck to say anything.

"Where are you meeting Harry?" Liam asked as I walk in, his basic _Liam_ powers to scan people never failing.

"Pierres at nine. So I need to start getting ready now. I really hate to sound like a girl, but what do I wear?"

"Absolutely nothing," Zayn answered instantly. "No beating around the bush."

"Nice phrasing, but I don't want to frighten him off."

"Oh I don't think he'd be frightened," Liam muttered. "But the fact is," he swept on, at a louder volume, "that he hasn't seen you in years and you want to remind how beautiful you are."

"Don't make me jealous over here," Zayn warned.

Liam shot him a gooey look that almost had me scrambling to puke into the nearest bin.

"No competition, honestly. But Harry really likes him in black, ya know? Always said it showed off his curves."

"I don't have much of those anymore," I said wryly. "So that option might be out."

"No, you don't have them anymore because you probably haven't had a decent meal in months. Do me a favor and order the whole damn menu tonight, yeah?"

"Sure," I agreed, just to fend him off. It was tempting, though. Just to have a big steak for once instead of nipping at fruit or a salad. "So all black?"

"Definitely," Zayn said. He picked up the bowl of batter from beside him and licked at a spoon that had been resting inside, just away from my sight. "William always dresses you in black for a reason."

Liam's eyes were on the spoon and mine were pointed towards the ceiling, hoping they could control themselves until I left that night. Was it really just yesterday that I thought my life would never drift from the horrible rut of misery I'd been stuck in?

"So let's pick out something. And get your hair done, okay?"

"Let's pick me out some nice pink nail polish while we're at it!" I said in a chipper voice. "I can get a pedicure, too!"

"Oh, don't be difficult," Liam reprimanded. "We are going to make you exceptionally gorgeous. And this two year nightmare will be behind us before you can blink."

"It's not that simple," I protested. It couldn't be. Noting could be so easy. But falling in love with Harry had been easy, so maybe this could be something similar.

Liam looked to Zayn.

"You'd be surprised."

When I left that night, I expected that they have a lot to talk about. Two years of explanations, certainly. Liam may have forgiven us both, but so much needed to be discussed before we could advance. I didn't want us to go back to what we were, necessarily. I wanted us to grow.

I felt good though, fresh and glowing from a spa treatment that made me feel like a right girl, but felt so nice that I couldn't put up too much of a fight. My hair was slicked back, my eyebrows plucked to perfection, and my nails thankfully unpainted but cleaned.

Zayn and Liam had too much fun bickering over what I was to wear. They dug through the clothes before deciding on something similar to what I wore often. Black skinny jeans, a long sleeved black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, and a pair of my favorite black boots. I knew Harry had always liked that look on me, the dark almost polished goth look. It wasn't too stark a contrast from my punk shirts and ripped jeans. I felt older though, more defined. I knew I'd just gotten a tattoo just yesterday proclaiming my desire to never move from that moment with Harry, but maybe I'd slipped. Just a little.

I couldn't stay lost in the second star to the right forever, though. I had to move on. I could stay in the same constellation, but I needed to cherish those moments without expecting them to replay into the future. What I could have with Harry now might even be better.

I could forget Neverland for Harry.

But I could keep it somewhere, just behind me, in remembrance of what led to a better place.

I wanted Harry to know that things had changed. That is what I had sat on the edge of my lips as the taxi threads through traffic and takes me to Pierre's. I prayed I would beat Harry here. I wanted to be sitting down, composing myself, and writing up an apology in my mind when I finally see him again. I wanted to be able to prepare myself.

That was not the case. The bored host looked me up and down before asking for the reservation name.

"Harry Styles," I replied. A grin spread across my face, as simple as that. I hadn't said his name in a long while, save for in my dreams.

"Liam Payne?" the woman inquired. She perked up at the famous name, the name of a famous person's friend. I wondered if she'd been beside herself when Harry came in, had been standing at her podium, shifting her weight and thinking of excuses to go back. Just to check on him of course. Make sure he was comfortable and all.

"That's me," I agreed, trying not to linger on my jealousy. I'd always had a problem with it.

"Right this way!" She ushered me forwards, through the main dining hall to the balcony seating where only a few tables were set up. The must be the highest of the high class. The best of New York's skyline was rising over the railing of the balcony with the candles flickering weakly in comparison. But the greatest lights of New York were bleak; none of it compares, because there he was.

After so many days, so many calendar months torn away, and there Harry Styles sat, his chin in his hand as he stared at the view. He seemed impressed, but impassively so. Yes, it was lovely to him, but he'd seen better, sure.

His curls were long again, his lips fuller than I remembered. He's grown lankier as well, and his biceps were straining against the cashmere sweater he wore. The cross necklace Niall bought him hung around his neck, almost resting on the edge of the table. Best of all, his legs stretched on for miles in tight jeans, and he wore these cowboy boots I might have poked fun at a couple of years back. But he was so beautiful right then that the sight of him took every ounce of air from my body. I halted as if I'd hit a brick wall, alarming the host that has been following on my heels.

She let out a squeak of surprise.

"Erm…sorry," I said lightly. "Thank you for showing me to my table."

She hovered, despite my obvious dismissal, for a few seconds too long before turning on heel and hurrying back inside. I drank in the sight of Harry for a few more minutes, trying to remember if he'd always been so damn good looking or if the time and lack of contact with him made him more appealing.

Whichever the case, he'd certainly grown up.

As I looked on, he checks his phone with a sigh.

It was now or never right then, I decided.

I forced my feet into feet into motion, stopping behind the chair that I should have been occupying, but my legs were shaking so hard I couldn't fathom them cooperating enough to do so.

"Hello, Harry," I said quietly, when the two seconds he didn't notice me threatened to overwhelm me.

I watched every muscle in his body tense, like a solid ripple, as he took his chin from the palm of his hand and slowly looked up. His eyes trailed up my body, until his eyes land on my face. For the longest, he simply stared with this look of unyielding disbelief upon his face, so long in fact that I had half a mind to check and make sure he wasn't having some sort of fit. I waited, however, until he spoke.

"Am I dreaming again?" he asked. Not so quietly, as if it were a genuine question. In fact, his eyes were so sincere that my heart seemed to swell in my chest. So had he dreamed about me before?

"No, I don't think so." I forced out a laugh. "Unless you'd rather pretend it is. I can go, and you can pretend you just woke up."

I took my hands off the back of my chair, took a step back, all my insecurities flaring up, saying _don't be stupid Louis look at him and think why the hell would he ever-_

In a flash he was up, the chair clattering to the ground behind him. Before I could even open my mouth to question a thing, he moved around the table and framed my face with his hands. The feel of his skin-scratchy and warm-against my cheeks sent delicate shivers dancing up my bones, tickling my mind and halting my thoughts.

Up close, I could see faint freckles, the pupils of his eyes, the delicate green shades that make up the rings of his irises-

Then, with an unbearable noise of delight, his lips were crushing against mine, his eyelashes fluttering against my cheeks.

"You're here," he sighed into my mouth. "It's really you."

"'m here," I mumbled in reply. "And I'm so sorry, Hazza, I don't even know where to start-"

He nearly convulsed at the sound of the pet name, and then he was pressing back into me, cradling me in a desperate hug. I'd never felt so at home. The old, broken home I shared with the lads wasn't right. Neither was the nice little place I shared with Liam and Niall and Harry. Home was there, in the folds of his arms, between the fibers of his clothes, in the tenderness in his eyes. I would never find anywhere that would make me feel so protected.

"Don't start apologizing," he whispered. "Don't even start, or I'll try to as well. I just…"

He trailed away, burying his face into my hair. Before long, I could feel his tears, and I knew he could feel my own. People were grumbling around us, and it finally occurred to me that other people existed on this planet besides us.

"We have some catching up to do, yeah? Let's get out of here."

He nodded quickly, detaching himself from me but keeping a solid grasp on my hand. He led the way, but instead of going towards the door, he ushered me into the men's room. It was a fancy as you'd expect out of a place like the one he casually dined at. It even had this ridiculous red velvet couch. I didn't understand rich people, even after living around them for about a year.

The bathroom attendant was wide eyed as we barged in. Harry pulled out his wallet and handed him a American bill.

"I'll see you in twenty minutes," he said curtly.

The attendant nodded and scurried out. We are left alone in the restroom, but Harry didn't allow me much time to think about what was about to happen. He locked the door behind the frazzled attendant and grabbed at my face again.

"Louis," he sighed, so delicate and at odds with his strong grip on me.

"Yes?" I asked, a little breathless myself.

"Tell me this is real, because I'm having a hard time believing it right now. I thought Liam was meeting me…"

"I met up with him…through circumstances I should really explain because I think you might hate me afterwards. But he sent me in his place. He's with Zayn right now. And….you have a fiancé."

"No I don't." He kissed along my jaw, around to my ear. "I ended that this morning, right after I told Liam I was thinking about it. He drives me crazy, but not the way you do. I just wanted someone to step into the spot you left. But there's just no one but you."

"Harry…I've been living a really terrible life since I left…."

"It doesn't matter," Harry cut me off. "Not a damn thing. Just tell me one thing, and I'll either let you fuck me right here or I'll walk out the door and miss you for the rest of my life."

"What's that?" I asked, utterly taken aback by his confidence. It was so unexpected, so new.

"Do you still love me?"

"That's not even a question," I objected feebly.

"It's the only one I need an answer for," Harry said, almost pleading. "You left, in such a bad state too. After I screamed at you and said terrible things. I never knew if you heard my voicemails. But I'll forget everything, every damn bit of it. I just need to know Louis, if you dreamed of me like I dreamed of you. If you thought about me throughout the day, if you missed me so bad that you thought someone was tearing your heart out. And I ask that so literally, because there were nights were I was screaming, it hurt so bad."

There were tears clinging to his eyelashes, gluing them together, and I wanted to wipe them away but there were also his eyes, wide and filled with that lust I had scarcely seen in him in our time together.

He was on a roll. Two years of unspoken questions were rolling off his tongue and I was drowning in the passion in his voice.

"Did you feel like you were dying every day, knowing that one mistake cost you the best thing that ever happened to you? Jesus, Louis, just answer me! Do you still love me so much that nothing else would matter except this moment?"

It was all so dramatic, but every word was so right. I'd never heard him speak so fast, with such wild desperation. I'd never answered so slowly.

"Yes," I choked out.

"Yes?" He demanded.

"Yes to all of the above," I manage through the lump in my throat.

That was all he needed. He swept me up, and my legs were wrapping around his waist, my arms resting on his shoulders and he attacked my mouth with his own.

It was as if my mouth never forgot him, as if my tongue remembered all the steps to dancing with his own. His grip set me on fire, like I'd been frozen until right that second and every part of me was melting into him, hugging into his shape…..

Or maybe it all felt like I'd been submerged in water, and then I finally had a breath of fresh air. He slammed me against the wall, rearing back and kissing me once, twice, before placing frantic kisses along my jaw. The scrape of his teeth against my jawbone tells me he's desperate, a little sloppy, but I'm still wrapping my mind around the fact that we are messing around in five star restaurant's loo without discussing the disaster that occurred between us.

If you want to call his frantic questions a discussion, I wouldn't have mind.

All that mattered then were his hands, covering so much of me, his lips, not covering enough….

"You're so beautiful. I forgot how gorgeous you were, how you looked when you were turned on…."

"Let's not get cocky," I quipped, gasping for air. But really, he had every right to, because his lips were magic. They were on my neck, sucking hickeys into my skin, then they were nipping at my earlobe, whispering sweet nothing in between.

"You really missed me?"

I gasped as he sank his teeth into my neck and rutted his hips against my own. I'd thought his behavior in the shower all that time ago had been so uncharacteristic, but right then I could hardly compare it. Harry's actions were feral, and I loved each one.

"Is that your answer?" he growled.

He flicked his tongue against the spot where he'd bitten down.

"Glad to see you kept the tongue ring," I murmured. I hated that I was trying to make conversation with him, especially when he clearly meant to fuck me, but my mind and body were at war. I gave in when he sets me down at the sink and palmed the bulge in my pants.

We'd talked enough.

"Is this okay?" he asked, in a way that said he really fucking hoped it was.

Now that I'd stopped talking, he wanted to start?

"Of course," I said, genuinely puzzled. "Do you think I'll actually push you away?"

"No I mean…." He swallowed and averted his eyes. "Parker."

Oh.

It's not that I'd forgotten him, but I'd really blanked out of everything the second Harry kissed me. Since he'd attacked me, it had been hard to see myself as a person worth having. My body had been used and recycled through so many people, so stepping into the world of prostitution wasn't hard. I'd already established that my self-worth was non-existent.

Yet as I watched Harry, chewing on his lips, so anxious for my approval, I felt something I had never felt. Precious. Like I was a person worth asking questions in regards to my feelings, my thoughts. That was why I knew I loved Harry. I felt like a human when in his proximity.

"I trust you," I replied, so simple and sure that his face lit up. God I had missed that, how his smile went crooked and his green eyes soft…..

Then he was throwing his shirt off, and my mushy thoughts went straight to dirty ones. The dips of his abs nearly had my mouth watering, and he'd developed a delectable v-line and a happy trail straight to heaven.

"All's fair in love in war," he whispered in my ear, tugging at the hem of my shirt. I ripped it off without another thought. I didn't care how skinny I was, or if my stomach ever stuck out again. If Harry still wanted me, he could have every bit of me.

"I've dreamed of this for years," he whispered, hands sliding down my sides and back up, across my chest. His thumbs brushed my nipples before settling over my heart. "Nervous, Boobear?"

His eyes were light again with this gentle teasing.

"No, Giraffe. Just very impatient for you to fuck me."

He became serious again, this time with a wicked gleam in his eyes, and he began working my pants.

"Do you have lube? A condom?" I asked, watching eagerly as he stopped and moved his attention to his own pants (a more pressing matter in my opinion).

At my question, however, he froze.

"A condom….no lube. I've never been all that keen with Aaron," he added dryly.

"It's okay," I assured him. "I trust you."

And I did. I trusted him never to hurt me like I must have hurt him.

We stumbled around briefly, like teenagers again as we laughed and used each other for balance to pull our boots off. After that, he tugs the skinny jeans away from him so fast I hasten to follow suit but _Jesus _it was like watching someone peel paint away from their body.

Once we were left in just our underwear, he gathered me up, as easily as if I were a small child and lowered us to the floor, me beneath him, cradled in his arms. We regard each other, like admiring a well decorated dessert before you destroy it with zero guilt for the cake's artist really, when a thought occurs to me.

"There's a couch over there," I muttered. For some reason, we both found this hilarious. He started snorting and buried his nose in my shoulder. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding him there, and laughed into his hair. Over a year and worldwide tours and he still had the same clean, flowery scent, tinged with something uniquely Harry Styles.

"I'm fine right here," he said, once he managed to qualm his giggles. "Are you?"

"I'm fine wherever you are," I agreed, and he takes the cue to tug off his black underwear.

I couldn't contain the growing arousal watching him, how his muscles rippled as he moved, and how _big_ he was. I think that it will take a lot of patience and definitely pain before I could even think to adjust.

He peeled off my own boxers, planting kisses down my stomach before licking up the length of my cock. After that one, incredible gesture, he pulls away, smirking down at me. God, I thought I had half a mind to shove his face back down where it belonged.

"Don't….tease…" I panted out instead.

Everything was aching to be touched, but honestly I wanted nothing more than to have him inside me. My initial relief could wait.

"You won't come yet," he chuckled, so sure. He had no clue, how everything he did drove me so mad.

"I will if you don't hurry along," I snapped back.

He had the audacity to throw his head back and laugh, actually laugh right in the middle of sex. Maybe we were doing it wrong; there seemed to be a bit too much laughter thus far.

"Okay, babe." He kissed at the head of my cock, batting his eyelashes sweetly. "I missed your sass."

Before I could tell him how much I wished he'd get moving, he slid his long fingers into his mouth and sucked, keeping eye contact with me the whole while. I craned my neck up, hungrily watching the movements of his tongue around his fingers. When he was satisfied, he nudged my legs apart and drew in a deep breath. I expected another warning, but there was none before one, spit soaked finger is pushing its way into me. I'd never let another person besides William top before, and he worked so mechanically and without emotion. He moved down my body like filling in a chart, doing the same motions every time, lasting the same amount of time.

But Harry's finger was long and knew just how to curl inside me and drive me insane, the feel of him was already so acutely different and _better_ that I wanted more before my body was ready for it.

"I'm adding a second, babe. Just relax."

I tried to, really, but I was squirming and going mad with desire. My dick was aching but if he sucked me off I knew I'd come and I wanted to come at the same time he did, while he was deep inside me and leaving his mark. I didn't want our first time together in so long-and only are second time together ever-to be a letdown just because he was reducing me to writhing mess on the floor.

"Go on…" I breathed. "More…please…."

I pushed back into his finger, trying to bring him in deeper until he was finished taking his time with the second finger.

Thankfully he obliged rather fast, adding a second and the third a heartbeat later before pumping in and out of me. Even with only his spit to ease the slide in, it felt good, something I truly didn't expect despite my eagerness. Everything he did felt so sure: the twist of his fingers, the way he crooked them and sent waves of want over me….

I moaned at the sensation, how his rough skin felt against me. He was murmuring reassuringly, plating sweet kisses on the insides of my thighs. He managed it without breaking stride, even though I would have found the position awkward. I wondered how Harry knew so much, how he knew just what drove me insane even though we'd never had sex like that before.

I reached down, fumbling for him more than anything else. As if he could sense my desperation, he leaned over the length of me and planted a sweet kiss on my lips, lingering them there, hushing away my panting. Then was gone again, and his fingers were missing from me and it felt like someone had just removed a vital organ and I needed it back right then or I would….

"Are you ready?" he breath was against my hole, cool and eliciting deep shudders throughout me.

"Yes!" I nearly screamed.

I could tell he was surprised at my urgency, maybe even a little proud at how he'd unraveled me so quickly, but he pulled the condom onto his cock and climbed back up the length of me with a more appropriate urgency.

With a chaste kiss, he was asking, no demanding, "Breathe, baby."

Then he pushed his way in, and no sensation had ever compared. It burned, and God knows it hurt, but my body was shutting all the way down as it focused on that fact that Harry was inside me, his hands were on either side of my body, steadying himself. His harsh pants fell against my chest, meeting my heartbeat. Despite the desperate way I clawed at his back, he took his time pushing in, letting me adjust before pulling out and pushing in a little faster.

He was groaning with his eyes squeezed shut, and I had the best view of his jaw-the inverted v shape so tantalizing.

"You're so tight…."

I tried to reply, but only a soft moan escaped me before he moved again, finally picking up the pace. I really did have the best view, him panting over me, his muscles taut with each powerful thrust. I begin to wrap my legs around his waist, to push him deeper, but he changed positions after no signs of thought.

We go from being laid out onto the floor to him leaning up, dragging me with him so that I was sat on his lap and he was nearly sitting.

I took the hint and straddled his lap, letting my hands fall loose over his shoulders. We hardly missed a beat as I began to move myself, lifting and falling back to meet him thrust for thrust. I loved the noises he made, how his fingernails had dug indentations in my hips like commas because everything we had tried to end but it never did. Nothing ever ended for us because it couldn't….this feeling would go on forever and it was in the ink in my skin and those dips he was leaving in my skin with his fingernails and my mouth was open against his, not kissing but we were just panting there, trying to keep each other close.

No it might never end for us but we needed to keep each other close just in case.

I circled my hips and pressed down, satisfied with the delighted squeak he gave. My mind involuntarily flashed to what if. What if we had two years of that, of practicing how to pleasure each other best? We already were working together so flawlessly, and it was only the second time we'd had sex.

"You're beautiful," I told him, because it seemed like such a good time. "Those noises are going to be the death of me…" Then I did kiss him, kissed his roughly, almost desperately. We didn't have enough energy to pursue a make out session, and his thrusts were getting sloppier, but I didn't want to stop ust yet. I held on tighter, raised myself a little higher before driving back down.

His eyes went a little glassy, but he still flowed my every movement.

"I'm going to come…."

My cock twitched at the words. It had been untouched so far, but I didn't think it mattered; I was so full but still so hungry.

"I'm waiting," I said as huskily as I could manage.

The words undid him as he spurted his load into me with a sharp cry. He buries his face into my shoulder and then I came as well, all over both our chests.

He collapsed, sagging against me entirely before inhaling.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he mumbled, voice soft with vulnerability. "And then this happens. I must be dreaming."

I cradled him to me, still savoring his scent, the feel of his curls underneath my fingers. I had imagined my reunion with Harry many times, but not in my wildest fantasies did he shove me against a bathroom floor and fuck me. Maybe I needed to start dreaming bigger.

"What now?" he asked. I could feel his eyelashes and lips moving against my chest. "Do you have anyone? Waiting back for you I mean?"

My insides went cold.

"Sort of…"

His reaction was instantaneous, expected, but still painful. He jerked away from me, pulling out and standing up so fast that I scrambled to follow.

"Then this was a mistake," he said, almost accusatory. The complete change in his expression nearly had me sobbing. I was inclined to fall to my knees and beg him to calm down, hear me out, because he said none of it mattered. I forced myself to be calm and collected instead.

"No! Hazza, it's not like that at all. I haven't been well since I left. I've fallen back into a bad place, but probably not what you think…."

"You're selling again?" his eyebrows raised. With his hands crossed over his bare chest, the whole situation would seem hilarious. We were both naked still and facing off, but I felt like crying more than laughing.

"Not selling drugs, no."

I mentally kicked myself for dodging the inevitable, but it was so hard to shove the words from my mouth. I knew how disgusted he'd be.

"Then what are you selling?" he asked, with all the naivety that I found so charming of him right from the get go.

"Me," I managed to strangle out.

His shoulders tensed the exact moment he processed what I meant. Every inch of him is sharp, leaning away from me just the barest amount but he might as well have been pressing against a wall to avoid me and oh God I'd finally done it, I'd really and truly disgusted him.

"So you're a prostitute now? And you're pimp is waiting for you while you let me fuck you in a bathroom. Is that what you mean?"

"No! Hazz, that makes it sound so terrible-"

"But true?" he interjected. His expression had slipped from tender to angry and hurt so fast that I had whiplash. "You're probably not even back for good are you? You just wanted a quickie before running back to your job. So who is your boss? Bumper?"

"William," I answered miserably. He was so angry, more so than I would have ever dared to fear, that I didn't want to explain until he allowed it. Let him take his anger out first, then I might have a chance to tell him that the past without him might as well have happened to a dead person because I checked out after I left him. I vacated my mind. My body had been on an instinctual autopilot and I had to do terrible things to afford good things that woke me up fractionally. He would understand…he had to…

"Have you had sex with him too?" he pressed. I swore I can hear his teeth grinding from across the room.

"That's not impor-"

"Louis."

I heaved out a sigh.

"Yes. We've had sex."

Hurt flashed across his face, but he pushed it away and shook his head.

"Have you missed me, Louis, or have you missed fucking around with me?"

My mouth fell open. I was so stunned that he could conceive such a notion that I couldn't even justify it with an answer. To my horror, he took my silence as a yes and scrambled to get dressed.

"No! Harry, I would never do that. You know me," I begged. "I missed you so much. So much I didn't see any point in trying to make something of my life without you. Can't you see that?"

He didn't answer, tugging on his shirt before wrestling to get his boots on. When he loses his balances this time, it's the sink he reaches for, not me.

"You know me!" I cried, reaching for his hand.

Before I could touch him, he reeled back like I meant to harm him further.

"No, I don't know you. Not anymore. The Louis I knew wouldn't have run from me. He would have stayed and made it work. The Louis I used to know loved me so much that the second he hurt me he was so sorry that I didn't hesitate to forgive him. You don't look really sorry anymore." He cocked his head, studying me, and I felt a glimmer of hope. "Not at all," he tacked on thoughtfully.

Before I could protest, he pushed his way out of the door, disappearing into the restaurant. I was left alone, without a scrap of dignity or will to stay standing any longer. The attendant would be back soon, so I found that button inside myself, turned autopilot on, and began to get dressed. I didn't have the will to face everyone outside though, so I flopped down on the couch, eyes fixed on the door like Harry might pop back in, sheepish with his head hanging, and apologize for his loss of temper.

He didn't come back.

I should have run after him, chased him down like all those sappy love stories. The acute difference was that Harry Styles ran with intent to get away from me, and that much was clear. Harry didn't want to be chased.

After a few minutes, I slumped over on the couch and hey, at least it was useful after all.

The next day, Zayn broke the news to William as to where he would be going. And that it would be neither Vegas nor the Bahamas.

"You can't be serious," William asked, staring from Liam to Zayn. "You're really taking off on the road to follow some Indie artist's best friend?"

"Yeah." Zayn shrugged, like it was all common sense. "That's the plan."

William was never half the terror that Bumper was, so despite his dislike over the happenings, he didn't throw a fight for Zayn. Liam and Zayn both meet me in the hot tub, to chat before they left.

They didn't get in, only letting their feet soak in the warm water. I want to tell them I found that gross, that I was strictly all or nothing about my hot tub (and William _had_ bought it for me) but I didn't have energy any longer.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," Liam said after we sat in silence for nearly an unbearably long time. "Harry was always more possessive of you than you thought. We'll try and bring him around on the road, yeah?"

"Yeah," I agreed churlishly. "But I have something I'd like for you to give him. William and I will be gone before you guys start back on the road, so I'll be out of his way."

"Louis," Zayn said, stressing my name painfully. "Harry's hurt. He knows where you live now, so he's probably throwing a tantrum until he's ready to come over and listen."

I looked away, not daring to be so hopeful.

"I swear we'll call you with good news within the next few weeks," Liam said. "Now, where's whatever you want us to give him?"

With a heave, I pull myself from the hot tub and lead the way back inside, not caring that I was tracking prints.

Both of them at my heels, I head straight to my room and open my bedside drawer, digging a little before unearthing and handing them a manila envelope.

"What's inside?" Liam asked curiously. I smiled at his childish wonder, because Zayn always had the oldest soul and was so responsible but a piece of him would always be this kid who watched Toy Story and preferred hot chocolate to coffee any day.

I hoped him and Zayn take care of each other.

"That's for Harry to know, and to tell you if he wishes to share. Hey, I'll be changing my number again soon, but I'll hold onto yours, Zayn, and call you soon."

"Another phone? Going back to the Blackberry?"

Liam's head whipped back and forth between us in confusion.

"How often do you two buy new phones?"

"As often as we want, really. We get restless with all our money just sitting in the bank."

Zayn bumped against Liam playfully, but Liam doesn't react much, and I could see the gears turning, maybe counting how many people equated to our small fortune. I could see him choosing to ignore it.

He took a deep breath and shook his head a little.

"We'd better be going, Zayn. Harry's crew will leave without us, trust me. One time I was chasing the bus and he just thought I was a fangirl…."

Zayn and I shared a brief hug, and just like that he was gone. The emptiness they left is so much worse than I thought it would be, now that Harry was gone and I knew he still loved me but was too mad to care.

Liam and Zayn were gone.

There was no one in the apartment, no one but me and the ticking of the grandfather clock I hated but Zayn called it antique. No one but the ticking and of course…

William's voice floated to me from our bedroom.

"You'd better get packed babe."

Babe.

The name sent nails skittering over my heart. I didn't want to hear anyone call me that ever again. Not unless they were Harry.

And they wouldn't be.

I'd been as easy as I could in my letter, keeping all the truth away from the ink flowing out of the pen. But I'm thinking I should have said more, cried a little harder in my words as I wrote it all….

_**Harry,**_

_**Here we are, back to another letter. This time it's you walking away from me, and I can understand it. I'm sure that I've disgusted you with my past, and how I've been passed around. After my incident with Parker, I felt so dirty and disgusting that I figured I didn't deserve anything. I figured anyone could have me and it wouldn't make a difference. I was already ruined. Being with you makes me feel so beautiful, so full of life. I know that you love those girly clichés, but it's so true. **_

_**When I left you, I became half a person. Everything good about me was left with you, all my laughter and reasoning and I'll even go as far to say my morals. **_

_**You were the best piece of me, and then you consumed me until you were so literally my other half, my life. **_

_**When we first started talking, I told you my dream was to own a Lamborghini. Then, right before we parted, you gave me a toy one. For almost two years now, I've taken it out, rolled it around at the dinner table absently, and I realized that all that time you were my biggest dream. I held onto that toy car because it was my last connection to you, my last reminder that you cared for me. **_

_**I'm giving it back in this envelope. To let you know I'm not going to hope for you anymore, but I hope it will remind you that I existed too, that I loved you and had dreams and they revolved around being with you in the simplest and most innocent of ways. Nobody ever compared to, and no one ever will. But I understand it's time to really let you go, to stop hurting you. **_

_**I'm proud of you and all your success, Hazza. So happy that I'll be buying your album, that I'll think of you every time I see green. **_

_**Every part of my mind is scrambled, telling me you might read this and come running back, but that's not how love should be. **_

_**I want you to think, to really think. If you still want to be with me in a month or a year or even five-hell even sixty-I'll be waiting with arms wide open. When the time is right-if it ever is-, I'm sure you'll tell me in a uniquely Harry way. **_

_**Until then, **_

_**Louis Xxx**_

I was thinking about it as our plane took off the next morning, so early that I knew Zayn wouldn't be awake but I sent him a farewell text anyway. When I landed in Vegas, I would buy a new phone. I'd buy a new life. Harry and I might not have ended things face to face this time, but it felt so much different. A part of me always wondered how he would felt about all this, and I finally knew. Maybe I lied a little in the letter; if Harry came back for me I didn't think I would be in my right mind. I wouldn't trust it. It would be a trick, surely.

On the flight over, while digging through my duffel bag, I found an empty journal and a note from Zayn.

_**Sometimes the loudest words aren't spoken. **_

_**-Z**_

So maybe he was right. Maybe I needed to stop talking so much.

Nothing I could say was worth hearing anyway. Zayn cared, but not enough to stick around anymore. I didn't blame him. William didn't care. Harry didn't care anymore.

I didn't care.

**November 26, 2015**

William and I are sat on the beach right now. I can't believe how amazing it feels compared to the cold winter of New York. I've gotten so pale that William wrinkled his nose while watching me change into my bathing suit. I know my body has become a mess. I haven't been able to keep much down since Harry left me alone in the bathroom. It's not that I'm starving myself. I'd have to feel hunger for that, right? No, it's more like attempting to color an already finished coloring book. I'm so full of disgust for everything in my life right now, I don't see where an ounce of food could fit its way in. Everything in me is stuffed with repulsion but ironically empty with the loss. I thought it hurt losing him the first time, but what I feel now is so much worse, stings much harder than I could have imagined….

At least the sand is warm and William is too repulsed to try and have sex with me.

**November 29, 2015**

Looking back at what I wrote a few days ago, I feel even worse. Have I really sunk this low? How do I get out of this hole I've dug for myself, back to the normal world? Zayn sent me a message after I texted him my new number. He says he's been speaking to Harry, explaining our situation and telling him a few horror stories.

I knew Harry would be such a good and kind and caring person that he'd regret his words the second he left, just like Zayn said he did.

It doesn't change the fact that he said them, that an angered part of him believed them.

_**He wants to see you. **_

_**It can't end like this Louis. Answer the damn phone. **_

_**We'll be in Vegas December 4th, and he wants to meet up with you there. **_

_**Louis if you don't answer the damn phone I will resort to calling William harry wants to talk to you so bad**_

_**He's crying himself to sleep at night because we have no damn clue where you are**_

_**Or if you're okay.**_

I just stared at the messages for a long time. How do I explain the unexplainable, that my mind has hated me and tore me apart? No, I hadn't been okay for years. I needed help.

I need Harry. I need him to feel something besides pity for me.

Harry can't destroy me then start crying and demand me back. That's not fair, not how everything should work. I needed to give him time…

Maybe I'm too picky, but my mind has been saying all these terrible things to me. Like I don't deserve it like I deserve to be right where I am now.

My thoughts are being bounced back and forth like a ping pong ball, and one second I want to run to Harry and thank him for being sorry and saying that we should put it all behind us. Another part of me wants to stick to my guns, let him have his space until we can meet in a healthier state of mind.

But I miss him so fucking bad and it's only been a few days.

William and I are about to board the plane for Vegas, and I have a decision to make.

My phone just buzzed with another message.

_**Harry is about to steal my phone and call you if you don't answer. **_

Another.

_**Louis are you even alive over there?**_

Didn't I just answer that? Or had that really been only in my mind?

Things have been so weird lately, I keep thinking I do things that I don't.

Eating, smiling, breathing. I shut my phone off.

**December 13th 2015**

Maybe the journal was a bad idea. William gets so mad when I don't speak now, but really, what do I say? We've got the best hookup in Vegas with the greatest hotel that he could afford. This means it's the greatest just about anyone can afford, really. We have a private hot tub. When we settled in, he was all excited to use it, and I finally dragged myself away from staring at these pages to be with him. I just can't believe what comes out of my mind that never came out of my mouth.

As we were sitting in the water, he scrutinized me so disapprovingly that I almost could compare it to how I looked at myself.

"You're too fucking skinny babe. How much do you weigh now?"

I shrugged, even though I knew. I was ten pounds underweight.

"And you hardly speak anymore. I figured you'd be grateful for all this."

When I spoke my words came out naturally soft and timid.

"I am. Just tired, 'sall."

He nodded, like this explained absolutely everything, and slid closer to me. What came next had happened a thousand times over. Usually when we had sex, I thought of Harry. Involuntarily of course.

For this first time in years, I thought about Parker, how he'd handled me and how my brain was so fogged with alcohol that I couldn't fight. I should have fought, should have been stronger. When William squeezed my thigh under the water, I felt cheap and dirty. I remembered how Parker had grabbed me the same way, forcing my legs apart.

I remembered staring at the bruises of his fingerprints just days later and never hating myself more. During that vulnerable period where I transitioned into living with William and starting up my current job, I had thought I could never want to die more. Back then, it had been a burning self-hatred, but now it's so much worse.

I don't feel anything but empty. I don't know what comes after tomorrow that I have to look forward to. There's just weeks ahead of me in which a strange man will kiss me, will beg for me to love him, and I will because it's so much easier to accept that you can love someone than it is that someone can love you.

Despite the bones jutting out from my skin, despite that pain gnawing at my stomach, despite that fact that I still saw those dirty bruises where Parker had gripped me.

It was so easy to tell William everything he expected as he made love to me on a private balcony in Vegas. It was easy to keep all the bad inside. My skin had become this bandage at best, hiding all the ugly wounds just beneath it. Even if he saw them, he wouldn't care. I could accept that. So why couldn't I trick my mind into believing Harry would be the same?

I would rather be anywhere else right now.

_**December 15th, 2015**_

I'm an idiot. A fucking idiot. My handwriting is shit and my hands are shaking and I can't believe I was so stupid to even hope for something. I've thrown my phone into the pool outside our flat and after I finish this, I'm probably throwing myself into the ocean. Maybe a shark will eat me.

I went to Harry's show.

Zayn told me all I'd have to do is say my name to security and I'd be sent backstage immediately. When I first glimpsed Harry on stage from behind the curtain, he took my breath away. He was so much taller somehow, staring out over the crowd and singing. The ways his body twisted and moved, how he banged his head in time to the more up tempo, rock songs, had me smiling.

He was gorgeous, drunk on love and passion for his career. A foolish part of me hoped I could still invoke that expression, just from smiling at him like I used to.

As a stage hand brought out a stool for his acoustic numbers, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Glad you could make it."

I turned and saw Zayn standing as far back as he could while still reaching me. When he saw me, his mouth fell open. Honestly, I expected it to.

"Louis, holy fuck what's happened to you?"

I stared blankly back at him, waiting for him to realize the poor choice of his words, but Zayn merely shook his head. He looked fit himself, way healthier than he had been. The pack of cigarettes he always kept tucked in the front pocket of his jean jacket was absent. His hair looked lush and thicker under stage lights. I couldn't believe how much he'd improved over just a month or so.

And how much worse I must have looked in comparison.

"Louis, come eat with me and Liam."

My stomach twisted painfully at the mention of food, but I looked back over my shoulder, where Harry was chatting with the crowd of thousands as casually as if he were talking to his mum.

"He'll still be here. We're just going to his dressing room."

I felt his fingers curl around my wrist. His fingers were halfway to wrapping around twice. That's when it really hit me, I think. How far I'd spiraled down. Even with my hoodie and jean jacket on, I was shivering. Maybe food wasn't such a bad idea.

I let him guide me down these halls to a door with a gold star on it that read 'Harry Styles'. Inside, Liam sat at a table munching on some fruit and reading a magazine.

"Where'd you run off to, babe?" he asked without looking up.

"Picking up a very important person."

Liam looked up at that. The same expression of cold shock flashed through his eyes as he registered me.

"Jesus Christ, Lou. Come here, babe. Have a slice of pizza or something."

My stomach twisted into knots. Okay, I knew I was thin, maybe too thin, but it wasn't so simple to go from picking at salads and eating cups of yogurt from greasy pizza.

"I'm okay, thanks."

Zayn's eyes cut into me at the sound of my voice. It's hoarse now, quiet. I really don't speak all that much.

"If you don't fucking eat, I'll shove the food down your throat myself."

I picked up a piece of pizza a few seconds after, acutely aware of his eyes on me as I peeled off a pepperoni and nibbled at it.

"Where does William think you are?"

I shrugged.

"Are you going to be clammed up all night?"

I shrugged again, but managed a smile this time. Zayn snorted, but some of the tension drained away. This time, I took an actual bite of the pizza. The dressing room had been mostly vacated, but a slew of hair dressers and makeup artists shuffled in and out. None of them paid us any mind, instead snatching at some blush here, or grabbing a can of hair spray there.

Right as Harry prepared to wrap his show (We could hear him through the walls, just so over his screaming fans) a woman with blond hair pushed her way in and headed straight for the pizza box.

"Is that on the diet, Lou?" Liam teased. I looked up at him in a dull way, thinking that he might be right, when I realized he was talking to the woman.

"Shut it, Payne. That kid had the gall to jump into the crowd! The security guards are fishing him out now. I swear, he has a death wish lately. He might as well have jumped face first onto a slab of concrete from a ten story building. Jesus."

She took an angry bite of pizza and I noted that if anyone to overhear this particular lot, it might sound like they have an angry passion towards Jesus and God.

Then, the woman noticed me and her eyes went wide.

"Is this…?" She broke off, swallowed her pizza, and started again. "Is this Louis Tomlinson?"

"How do you know me?" I asked, far too baffled to worry about my voice.

Wordlessly, she pointed towards Harry's mirror. I stood and followed the general direction of her finger over to his mirror. Typical Harry, really. The sides were lined with postcards and little notes from a lad named Ed Sheeran. A postcard Anne sent from the beaches of Mexico. She had gotten remarried. That piece of news had to be the best I'd gotten in long while.

Then there were pictures of me, and pictures of us together.

Me slapping away the camera, me sitting in pajamas with a bowl of Cheerios, intent on whatever was on the television. They were his favorite candids, the ones he used to use as the wallpapers of his phone and I wanted to die of the best embarrassment every time he whipped his phone out in public.

Then there was my favorite picture ever of us, one that Liam had taken a few weeks before Christmas. Harry and I were out in the snow, in matching plaid pajamas and thick hoodies. We wore each other's beanies, and he had the ugliest mittens on. I remembered making fun of them when Harry offered them to me.

In the picture, I was on his back, my hands wrapped around him as he beamed at the camera. His mouth was open in laughter, his arms hooked behind my knees to keep me in place. It looked professional, to Liam's credit, with snow still falling in the background and the contrast sharp. He'd had it developed in black and white.

I stepped away from the mirror and retreated back to the table. I didn't much feel up for pizza anymore.

"It is you," Lou went on, as if I hadn't just spent several seconds staring at a mirror. "He's talked about you so much through this all, especially recently. He loves you so much. Oh, I can't wait to see his face when he sees you."

I could.

I'd rather watch him at his mirror, sighing as women picked over his curls, texting Liam across the room. I wanted to see Harry, but I didn't want him to see me.

I got my wish just seconds later.

He stumbled in, placing his guitar on the couch before heading over and flopping in his chair without so much as glancing our way. The second he entered the room, the hairs on my body began to stand up with the electric awareness I always felt when he drew near. His curls were askew, his shirt sticking to him with sweat, and my heart seemed to fold in on itself. It was too weak to handle the tempo my mind urged it to.

"Rough show?" Lou asked sympathetically.

"Yeah." Harry's voice rumbled from behind his hands. If it were years ago, I might have walked over and took his hands away from his face, kissed his forehead, his nose, and then his lips. But it wasn't like that anymore. I couldn't do that.

And that realization led to a burning question.

What was I even trying to do here, so soon?

I stood abruptly and grabbed at the bag I had brought with me.

"Louis-" Zayn began, but Harry's head snapped up so fast that it stunned the room into alarmed silence. Our eyes met in the mirror. The same shock and disbelief registered in his eyes as it had Zayn's. I let his eyes trace me in the glass, and for the first time I took a good look at myself. I was gaunt with hollows in my cheeks, my lips were dry and cracked. My hair was dry and sat in a messy ruffle. My collarbones were visible just so from the light scoop neck of the hoodie.

He still watched me, but I had turned my attention to that black and white picture, where I nearly glowed with health and love and this sickening happiness that had somehow been inscribed on glossy paper.

Harry loved that boy, not this one.

"I shouldn't have come," I had choked out.

"Louis!" Harry stood, started to turn, but I ran as fast as I could out of the room. My legs tried to buckle a couple of times, but I made it outside before his shock could wear off. I saw the way he'd looked at me. Maybe he'd realize now that he really didn't want me. Then he could quit pestering Zayn.

He could quit making me hope.

"LOUIS TOMLINSON!"

I jolted as I heard him call my name. The bastard had followed me out, straight into a crowd of lingering fans. They were on him in a second, screaming and pushing over each other. I turned, made sure a security guard was moving in, and then I hailed the first taxi that would have me. I would have to take the subway home, but I preferred it to driving in the traffic anyway. It felt so much smoother, not as hassled and harried as the town above.

The cabby raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment as I clambered out at the subway instead of asking him to carry me home.

On the ride, I felt a mounting sickness in me. I almost called Zayn, I felt so awful, but that kind of felt like backtracking so I didn't. I really had to stop this merry-go-round ride with Harry. After he saw me tonight, though, I doubted he wanted to follow after me ever again. Yeah, we'd had misunderstandings, but he'd always persisted in being with me and I always loved him above everything else in my life. Now I'd broken the connection, stepped over the track. He must have been repulsed that he had ever loved something like me.

The thought had me doubled over one of the little trash cans on the subway car, puking and puking until my vision went white.

When I woke up, I was here at the hospital. I heard the doctors speak a bunch of big words to William, who really could care less but he was the only one to claim me. I wondered if Zayn and Liam and Harry heard and were too disgusted at my behavior to come get me.

The doctors say that I don't have an eating disorder, I'm just terribly depressed and that my lack of care to eat is a warning sign of suicidal thoughts. This clown went to college for years to piece together what I've known for a long time.

They released me with a bunch of pamphlets, and it really felt like that time after I overdosed. William told them to piss off, that I didn't need treatment. I managed to hold on all during the flight home.

Once there, I tossed my phone in the pool. Simple as that. I had deleted all my messages, cleared the history. It was just a phone. Maybe the nice pool cleaner would find it and think his day was made, if he managed to make it work. I don't care.

It's dark now, with William snoring in the bed and me sitting by our fireplace writing. I never mentioned that one, huh? It's nice, all brick painted white. We're allowed to have it because we're the topmost floor. And Zayn had a soft spot for them, just like William had for him.

It's warm on my feet, even though I'm wearing these outrageously fuzzy pink socks that Zayn bought me one year.

I've been so cold lately.

I'm about to burn this journal. There aren't many entries. A few doodles. But I don't want anyone to take a guess as to where I've gone.

I don't even know, though, so I suppose it's foolish to be so precautious.

I'm going somewhere though, until I find something to put some air in my lungs. Until I've found something to speak about again.

I'm going to run until I have a reason to stop, and maybe then I'll call Zayn, maybe then I'll ask if I can meet Harry. Maybe when I stop running and I speak again I'll deserve that apology.

Or maybe I'm just too filled with self-loathing and angst to ever stop and accept that.

I stayed to watch the pages curl up, blackened, as the fire licked hungrily at the worst of my secrets. I swung the duffel bag over my shoulder, nearly dipping under its weight. I had to start eating more. More something. I needed to get out of there first.

I didn't bother with goodbye. I took all the money that was mine, then took off.

It was near the state line of California that I heard it first. Harry speaking on a radio show, voice velvet smooth. I tuned in halfway through, driving a rental car to I-don't-know-where. But hey, I was still moving.

I tuned in right in the middle of Harry finishing up some story.

"How frightening for him! Is everything okay?" the deejay replied, talking a little over the end of his sentence. Bastard.

"He wasn't living with him anymore," Harry explained in his slow, lulling morning voice. "But it's still scary having your home invaded."

"Did Zayn's friend still live there?"

Harry was silent for a long while, enough time for me to piece it together. So William's flat had been broken into. I was not surprised in the slightest. Without me and Zayn, he had no way to pay his loans. I'd kind of tossed him to the sharks, but really, he shouldn't have banked everything on two men.

"No, Louis doesn't live there."

"Louis Tomlinson?" The interviewer's tone perked up considerably. "Your long lost love? So where is he now?"

This silence was painful.

"I don't know. I don't even know if he's alive."

I could hear it there, at the end.

'Again.'

I'd left him with questions again. Immediately, the innocent and naïve parts of me began speculating wild and hopeful schemes. I could go see him, just let him know I was alive, and then leave. We didn't have to speak, I just needed him to glimpse me.

No. I fought to shake such a thought from myself. If I saw him again, I wanted him to see something better than what he saw last time. I wanted him to look at me and be proud. But how did I redeem myself at this point?

"Do you have a message for him?" the interview asked. He was practically panting that such a juicy piece of gossip was unfolding on his radio show.

"Just that I love him." Harry wanted to spill his guts on the radio, I could tell by the way his voice trailed away softly, as if Liam was shaking his head somewhere in his periphery. I almost smiled.

The interviewer moved on to a set of perfunctory questions, and I relaxed a little, let myself sink into his voice like I always could after a long day. I missed it terribly, missed hearing it in all its familiars; upset, happy, hoarse, mumbling my name in his sleep….

I missed when I would come home and relax in the bubble bath and he'd sit on the sink, swinging his long legs and asking about my day at the tattoo parlor.

"If you could be anywhere in the world," the interviewer asked, "where would you want to go right now?"

"Home," Harry answered easily. "A little brick home in a little England town, not my place in London or L.A."

At that moment, I agreed. It was easy to disappear again. I didn't have much to cling to anymore. The only thing I ever cared about was that little yellow car and Harry has it now. But I could go back, pick up a few pieces before I head off and start building. I turn my direction towards the nearest airport.

I caught the next flight and was filled with hope for the first time.

Maybe if I go back to the beginning, understand where it went wrong, I could fix it.

Slowly, with time, and if Harry still loved me I could open my arms for him instead of running.

But the marathon wasn't finished just yet.

The taxi driver stopped in the road, just in front of mine and Harry's old home. I was precautious; maybe he actually did go home. His old car was still in the driveway, but the curtains were firmly shut and the lights all off. It wouldn't be hard for him to keep this home anymore, to return to it sparingly. That must be what he did.

I didn't know why, but seeing it made me regret everything; running after the car crash, letting Harry run away from me in the restaurant, and then running again when Harry saw me in his dressing room mirror. I wouldn't run next time, I reminded myself. I wouldn't have to. We'd meet in the middle, if he'd still have me. He was going to remember why we stayed together so long, because I would find happiness and peace and then I'd build a home in him where I could keep that peace in locked drawers, in the spaces between his ribs and his heartbeat could be my soundtrack.

I could feel that hope, waking up a few dead nerves inside of me at a time.

Turning away from the house, I started walking, a little aimlessly.

It felt like such a literal stroll down memory lane, through the park where I first met him, to the retro diner Luca enjoyed immensely until Reggie sneaked a peak up our waitressed short, frilly skirt and we were banned. I used to see her on the street sometimes, but she never noticed me.

It's funny how we remember certain people's faces, but they never remember us. Maybe we weren't memorable enough, or maybe something about them is etched into our minds, like our eyes paid attention too long and our mind thought it was important to remember.

I agreed just then; I'm glad I remembered a waitress from years ago. She gave me a reason to smile. I headed down into the slums, back towards my first home. I recognized the same people sitting out on their crumbling porches, eyeing me like we all used to eye strangers. Again, I wasn't a memorable face. How, I don't know. I never exactly flew under the radar, especially here with my participation in the street fights.

Not to mention that my group had a habit of making themselves known, in public and in the more private corners. I decided to assume that they had more to worry about, more to remember than a scrawny kid with tattoos and one too many facial piercings.

I stopped at the edge of my old yard, taking in the house. It truly was falling in now, the shingles fallen and cluttered in the yard, a couple of scorch marks on the porch. One of the steps had been busted in the middle, so that the wood sagged into the weeds. I could see someone had duct taped the windows a few times, but something must have happened not too long ago; glass still scattered the porch.

Our old home must be being used as a place to smoke now, or maybe stay the night from the cold.

At least someone still cared.

I just wanted to see my sister's graves before I took off again, maybe find another town to settle in and get my life together. And one day I'd see Harry again, and even if it was just in passing, even if he was holding hands with another guy, I wanted him to look at me and not be disappointed. I wanted to match the memories in his mind, at least partly.

So I would.

I could have found their graves in my sleep, honestly. I knew the exact incline, where there was a slight dip in the earth. I smiled when I saw their graves, as if it were actually them that I had been neglecting. It felt like it, honestly. I had thought of them so much while I was gone, hoping the groundskeeper was keeping everything in order. It all looked fine, and even fresh flowers had been placed there. My aunt would have done that. Even if she didn't forgive me, she wouldn't let my sister's graves suffer from it. I stood to walk away when another headstone caught my eye. It was far ahead, but the name on it was familiar enough that I stepped forward curiously.

It only took a few steps for the blurry name to solidify. I tasted sick in my throat.

Niall James Horan.

It never occurred to me that they'd bury him, and I'd given it some thought. Just not quite recently. I thought his family would take him home to Ireland, despite the feud that had driven him to England. Liam probably insisted, as this was his real home. I approached his grave cautiously, like he might pop from it and start bitching at me for killing him.

I'd killed both of the Horan brothers, and his family had no clue. They probably thought God simply hated them. They had no clue an idiot had messed up twice and that their family had been a causality. And I didn't dare look to my side then, to check if Greg was buried next to him. I couldn't deal with that much right then.

Instead, I sank to the earth, at the edge of the marker. Liam probably picked it out, and Harry probably wore the prom tuxedo to the funeral. Come to think of it, Liam probably had to do the same. What terrible irony that the first time he wore the suit would be his last good memory of his time with Niall. And the last time her wore it would be the first of many nightmares.

"I'm sorry," I managed. Whether or not he could hear me, I don't know, but saying it pushed some of the weight off my chest. So I went on, as if he could. "I should never have let you drive. I never should have given your brother drugs when I knew he was already messed up. I should have stopped Liam and Zayn from the beginning, or at least made them chose. I've messed up so much that it makes me sick. And they aren't even small mistakes. They've cost people their lives. And when I look back, I've lost so many people it shouldn't be allowed. You're gone, and I know that we never much got along in the beginning, but you were such a good friend to me after that. And Gemma, she would have been speechless at where I am now. Reggie wouldn't even agree with it. And Luca…."

I let out a curt laugh.

"Luca would strangle me."

I sat in silence, as if letting the fictional and very much alive Niall in my mind acknowledged digest this. It did feel like he could hear me, as if he were sitting just on the other side of his headstone, arms crossed and his eyes closed by his head angled towards my voice.

"I've been miserable lately. Letting everyone's deaths mean nothing. It's not fair I get a second chance and I do this with it."

I didn't even know where all these revelations where coming from, but it felt much like I'd been sitting in a room with the curtains drawn and I'd finally gotten the gall to peek through the blinds. I could do this.

"I'll come see you again," I said. "And everything will be a thousand times better by then. You, my sisters, and even Reggie-"

I broke off. Reggie's family had claimed him as well.

"All of you," I amended. "But first….I need to get some more junk off my chest."

I headed over, my footsteps falling over familiar ground again until I reached Mum's grave. How long had it been since I had a proper chat with her? She always insisted she could listen to my stories all day. I hope that some part of her was still listening. So I dropped my bag and told her, told her everything in the hopes that some window in my mind would be opened by the memories of her hands.

That some clarity would stream down, or at the very least I would be happy to tell her that I was ready to change things. Everything poured out of me until I was so empty of the bad but the bad hadn't emptied me. I would fix it, and I would make it better.

_And I would, inevitably….starting here, starting-_

_**Present Day:**_

Right now. Things change now, and I'll leave my promises here and with everyone that I loved, and I would take my chances everywhere I could until I could return to them with good news. I can see them, as if they're all perched just on top of their graves, smiling and chatting and wishing me well on my search for something.

Anything. So long as it makes me feel alive again.

I adjust the weight of the duffel bag on my shoulder and started walking again. Just as I pass the town sign, it begins to snow.

Just on the other side of Eddington, I find it. It is small, but chipper and something off a postcard.

The town is called Brightsville for glaringly obviously reasons. It sits nestled up to the beach, and the sun permanently shines down over all the colors washing the landscape. Everyone is tan and chipper and the homes are painted bright, pastel colors. I might have been alarmed at all the color and sunshine if everyone wasn't immediately so friendly. Their smiles are so genuine I feel the need to stop and chat with them.

A few ask politely about my tattoos, where I'd gotten them, how much they were.

I didn't expect any of them to have some of their own, but they raise their pants legs up a little, or showed off hip tattoos. Maybe I'm misjudging the initial appearance of the town. A few teenagers with surfboards wave at me as they head down to the beach.

An old lady asks if I'd be staying with them for a little bit, and if I need any help getting a job to let her know. Overall, I feel cornered. I haven't been treated with such kindness since I left Harry.

There is much to take in, so I try to focus on normal things. There are papers stapled to the telephone poles, and I can make out words about pets and bake sales and something about auditions for something. I decide I like it here within minutes, but that doesn't mean I'm still not overwhelmed by it all.

I wonder the quaint town, taking in the houses and how different each seemed to be even though they had similar layouts. Wind chimes hung from some, crazy flowers lined the boardwalks of others, and then one home was even painted a vibrant, bubble gum pink, while the other colors had been muted. The main boardwalk is immaculately paved and the shops have a glow of healthy business that I don't recognize from small towns.

As I head into the neighborhoods, things only straighten up a little. The colors bleed into a pale shade of yellow at best, but there are more normal things; dogs tied to trees, kids playing in the small piles of snow that the sun hasn't melted away, and the curls of smoke from chimneys.

I find it in a few blocks.

Two stories, with a tiny balcony of wrought iron. The siding is almost ivory, the shutters a bright green, and the porch wraps around to the back of the home. The door is a mismatched blue, but I love it from the second I see it. What I love more is the sign stuck in the yard, announcing it is rent-to-own. I no longer have the phone, so I trudge to the house next door, hesitate a moment, then knock. If I have pegged this town right, this would be easy.

A young girl sucking her thumb answers the door.

"Erm…is your Mommy home?"

She shrugs and ducks back inside, emerging a moment later with a worn looking woman in tow.

"How may we help you?" She plasters on her smile, and even though she's tired I know it's genuine.

"May I borrow your phone? I'm interested in that house over there…." I wave in the direction of the beautiful house. "But I can't call the number because I broke my phone."

In a pool, I don't add.

She takes in the sight of me; expensive clothes, clearly, but worn from travel. More tattoos than my skin could contain, and gaged ears. Her tired eyes settle on my lip ring, focus on it as she answers.

"Yeah, come on in."

I follow her indoors. The second I take a step into the living room, I'm nearly hit by a flying Frisbee. It crashes into the wall, nocking a picture over, but the woman hardly flinches at the clatter that follows.

"What did I tell you Maisy?"

She doesn't even look to see a tiny girl with wild blonde curls giggle and hurry away. I estimate her age to be six at the most, but I already peg her to be the trouble maker. In a heartbeat, I like her.

"I run a foster care, but sometimes I know the kids want out of the orphanage," the woman says, shrugging her slumped shoulders. "So I try to bring them home in little groups at a time. Take them shopping, let them watch movies." She gives a full-body sigh this time. "I wish I could handle them all at once, but the house isn't big enough."

I take in the sight of five girls running around, giggling and coloring in princess coloring books.

"Where is the orphanage?"

"Just a good mile from here, outside of town. My husband and I built it on the countryside, so that the kids had room to stretch their legs. But I know they like some city life too."

I nearly snort at the thought that this town could be considered 'city'."

Maybe I don't hide my expression well enough, because she clucks her tongue at me playfully.

"Okay, we aren't huge. But we have nice shops and a great school. Also, the finest theatre group for miles."

"Theatre?" I perk up immediately.

"You haven't heard of them?" she cries in disbelief.

I figure a no would truly offend her, so I remain silent, stick my hands in my pockets to warm them.

"They tour, darling," she exclaims passionately. "They call themselves the Brightside Players. People come from hundreds of miles away to see their plays. Have you heard of Les Miserables?"

"Of course," I say. It had been a big movie a few years ago.

"They're getting ready to take auditions for their production of it. They have their main members of the group of course, but it's really all about the auditions. They treat everyone the same when it comes down to it. If they really like someone, they'll invite them to join permanently. Now I did say that they treat every audition fairly, but the experience and training you get from being an official member…it's priceless."

"You're passionate," I note.

"My sister, Margot, is the director," she answers easily. "It's rubbed off on me. I'm sorry to bore you with details, hon. I'll go grab the phone, kay?"

I sink onto the couch while she vanishes into another room. The girls ignore me, except for Maisy, who creeps forward to leer at my arms.

"Like them?"

I hold my arm up so that she can take in the details.

"Sommun used your arm lika coloring book," she says angrily.

"I wanted them to," I say, laughing. "It's art. And now it's always mine."

The tiny indention between her eyebrows smooths over. Her tiny hand reaches out to trace one of the designs, and after a pause her face splits into a toothy smile.

"My name is Louis," I tell her. "What's yours?" I already know, but I want her to tell me herself.

"Maisy," she answers, big eyes still trained on my arm. "I like your name."

"And I like yours." Observing her, I realize she's different from the other girls somehow. She's playing by herself, and the others haven't invited her into their coloring circle. She's almost an outsider.

When the woman returns, I beam up at her, trying to remember the best of my charm.

"My name is Louis by the way."

"Charlotte," she says. I flinch and make the note to never give her a nickname.

"I'm going to step outside and get the number, then I have a proposition for you."

My words have her on edge instantly, and I feel bad for being so tactful. But I'm feeling better than I have in a long time, having gotten some of my story relayed to my mum, having found such a beautiful town that can look so warm in the cold, and now there is a theatre group and shit it's such a long shot but it has to be fate. I can try and join them for their next production. Yeah, I'm rusty, but I can drill Charlotte about how picky Margot is.

Speaking of, I should probably befriend Charlotte first, because now she looks so uneasy at the mention of my proposition.

"Okay….I'll be here when you're done….."

I step onto her porch and peer across the yard. The numbers are just legible.

The office answers on the fifth ring, and seem delighted that I want the house. And that I can pay right away. They make the arrangements to meet me tomorrow, and when I tell them I'm homeless at the moment, they agree that they can get me in the house within a couple of days of paper work and processing.

I shake my head. This town.

Inside, Charlotte is sat in my former spot, nodding while the girl who answered the door explains why she needs the newest Barbie doll. It's a compelling argument, really.

"Cuz she's got a pink hair brush instead of a blue one. She also comes with beach clothes so when we take trips down to the beach it's better for her to play too…"

Charlotte is shaking her head, but she's also smiling so I'm guessing that all the girls will be getting presents today. Which brings me to my proposition.

"I'll pay for them," I offer. Charlotte looks up at me with her thin eyebrows raised. "That was actually my proposition. I say we spend a day town, yeah? I'll pay for everything, and you can give me tour of the place. And I need to thank you for letting me use your phone."

I can tell a part of her is torn. A stranger wanders in and wants to spend the day shopping around with the orphaned little girls. Oh and he's covered in tattoos. But she's also from a trusting little town, and when I tell her I expect her to come along, she relaxes a million times over.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt….."

The girls squeal and jump, hugging Charlotte. Only Maisy bothers to come over and hug me.

It turns out there is more to the town than I initially thought. They do have a tiny mall, with beachy brands like Hollister, a book store, a few cafes, and even a toy store. There are a few clubs, a place for ice cream, and a very nice restaurant. Charlotte points them all out, giving me the not so grand tour with that girls trailing behind us like ducklings.

Though, like I said, they do have way more than I figured.

Even a tattoo shop.

We take the girls to the mall and Charlotte visibly relaxes the more we talk. Of course I have to be careful as to what I tell her, but I do say I had a rough life and I've been getting it together as of late. She meets my eyes when we talk like that, and I think it's probably the story she probably likes to hear, a story of hope for someone who wasn't in the best position. Like maybe an orphan.

"I wanted a fresh start. And this town seems like my best bet. Everyone here is so welcoming and friendly. I think I can see myself sticking around, ya know?"

She nods and smiles. Once I've lain down a part of me, she caves and tells me about how she and her husband have always been unable to have children, and she wanted to save the ones that they could. They've run themselves ragged keeping the orphanage up, but it's so blaringly obvious that she doesn't regret a thing. The girls let loose in the toy store, but Maisy clings to me and tugs me along to the isle with all the coloring books and crayons and stuff.

Watching her, I can sense something I really don't need growing in me; affections. It's really that simple. I've always been a sucker for children, and misfits. Now there was a misfit of a girl clinging to me and I had no one to cling back to. Sue me for getting attached so fast.

So I stay with her while she walks up and down the aisle a few times, head turning to take everything. I drift behind, giving her space, but every few steps she looks back and makes sure I'm still with her. When she looks, I nod at her and her attention shifts back to the shelves.

"You don't want a new doll?" I ask her, after we've paced the aisle four times. She pops her thumb in her mouth and shakes her head.

"She never does." Charlotte says, rounding the corner. The rest of the girls are in tow, each clinging to a box containing a new Barbie. "She's more artsy. Always coloring or something."

I squat down so that I'm at her eye level. Her eyes are green like Harry's, but more muted, tilting towards a shade of gray.

"If you could have anything in here, what would you want?"

She doesn't hesitate to head over to an easel set that comes with a sketchpad and a overabundance of paint. It's the motherload here, and it's about ten times more expensive than a simple Barbie.

I look back at the other girls.

"Go pick you out a few more, yeah? Best make it fair."

They take off before Charlotte can even think to follow. Maisy squints up at me.

"I can have it?"

"Yup."

"No jokin?"

"No joking. Pinkie promise?"

I hold out my pinkie for her. She hesitates before she wraps her own tiny pinkie around mine, and we shake on it. A piece of me is still saying not to get so attached, even if I intended to live in this town I couldn't develop this bond with a kid that would have a family one day, a family far away from me.

By the end of the day, Charlotte trusts me so completely that she invites me for dinner to meet her husband. The tension is so far removed that she's shoving me playfully when I hesitate.

"Okay, okay! Fine. But I'm only agreeing so that you don't beat me up."

We fall silent and make a big production of crossing the street, ensuring everyone is safe, even though I've seen about six cars since I got to town. I think everyone kind of skates around here, or strolls. Whichever.

"How long have you been married?" I ask on the other, after she's counted the heads following us twice.

"Just a year now, but I already had this orphanage business underway. He helped immensely. You'd probably get along with him; he's a lot like you. And covered in tattoos as well."

"Then we most definitely will," I laugh.

Once we get back to her house, she sort of collapses on the couch, reclining and sighing. After a fumble for the remote, she changes it to a recorded series about weddings gone horribly wrong.

When I raise my eyebrow at her, she shrugs kind of bashfully.

"Guilty pleasure. And a reminder that I could be dealing with that-"

She waves her hand at the television where a bride has spilt a hearty bit of red wine on her gown while trying to show it off at her bachelorette party. I think to myself that there is no way that she would ever do that, that it must be fabricated for entertainment purposes. But Charlotte is marginally less stressed so I just smile and stay sat on the very edge of the couch with my hands folded between my knees.

We take turns watching, watching brides cry their ways down the aisle and the girls play with their new dolls. Maisy works on a painting of a horse. Maybe I'm already biased by my instant affection for her, but I think it's terrific. I mean, at least I know it's a horse.

"She's taken a shine to you," Charlotte notes at my staring. "Have you ever considered adoption?"

The thought sends alarm bells ringing. They'd look into my past for that, and then what would they see? Hospitalized for a drug over dose? That would be the first among many terrible things.

"I don't think I'm much in the position to have a child," I tell her. "If it were even allowed."

The thought is charming for a moment, I admit, but I squash it down before it can be formed. Maisy deserves a hell of a lot better. She deserves two parents to shower her with gifts. Two parents that don't come from a fucked up background. Two parents, period. Not one very fucked up father.

"We'll you know who to call if you change your mind." She's crushed by my response, but perks up at the sound of the door opening in synch with a bride smashing her ruined heels against the wall on the show.

"Honey?" a voice calls, just from around the bend of the hallway.

I freeze.

No way in hell. It would be too coincidental. I couldn't imagine it in a million years, not in a hundred bad sitcoms could it ever occur-

But it does.

Harvey rounds the corner in work uniform, red hair askew as he fondly takes in the sight of his wife rushing to him. He's aged a little, with a few laugh lines around his face, but even that's too much for only a year. He's also tanned a little from his life here, which we'd always thought very impossible.

His blue eyes fix on me, his arms slacken around Charlotte.

"Louis?"

My mind scrambles to think of how this could have happened. Liam had mentioned Harvey had disappeared, but would he really ever go far? No, he would want to stick closer to home. My life was fast turning into the biggest joke. I run into Harry fiancé, out of the thousands that could have been invited to that party, and then Liam shows up to bitch him out while I hide in a closet, and everything clicked so perfectly into place before it fell apart there.

Now I stop at a random town, pick the best house I see, and it turns out Harvey fucking lives next door. And apparently is helping run an orphanage.

"Hi Harvey," I grumble, because what else do I say?

I don't know how he'll receive me. Zayn and I ran; there's no other word for it.

My question is answered when Harvey moves and wraps his arms around me in a famous bone-crushing hug.

"Where ya been short stuff?" he asks.

He's crying before me, at least.

At their insistence, I'm allowed to sleep on the couch. I'd planned to camp out of the beach, use my duffel as a pillow, but Harvey says it's too cold to pull that stuff now. I don't mention the teenagers I saw heading towards the beach.

"Even if the sun is shining, it don't mean much," Harvey says over dinner. At least he still talks with his mouth full, which Charlotte is clearly repulsed at but I am much relived about it. When they are distracted, I help Maisy hide her green beans. I know I have no right to dictate her parenting or whatever but I'm not one for forcing children to eat shit for dinner. I am interesting to the other girls, a new friend perhaps, but Maisy dictates my attention, telling me these long winded stories in between forkfuls of mashed potatoes and bless I hardly know what she's saying but the steady thrum of her voice is like pulling a blanket over my harried mind.

After dinner, Charlotte reads the girls a bed time story in the enormous guest bedroom and I take the chance to tell Harvey, as quietly as possible, what I've been doing the past two years. I can tell how much he disapproves, but when I mention running into Harry, then coming here to try and get my life back in order, he breaks into his famous smile, the one where his eyes almost disappear beneath the crinkles.

"I'm proud of you, Lou. This is the best place to do it, too." He pats me on the back before he stands, clearly ready to turn in for the night.

He is only a year older than me, but his life was already perfectly in order and he was happy about it. I envied him, but I was far too pleased for him to let it bother me. Instead, I remain at the table while he shuffles about, shoving the dishes away into the dishwasher. An insistent throbbing has started back in my mind, pulsing right over my temple. I press against it, trying to have a handle on how much I hurt. Maybe Maisy could come back and talk it away.

Before Harvey disappears towards his bedroom, he turns back to me and smiles. There, framed like a picture in the outline of the door, he could be anywhere. We could be two years ago, his wild eyes dancing because we were gutter trash to everyone else but with our shitty home we felt on top of the world.

Or we could have been here, me learning to stitch back the pieces while he held the thread for me.

"Welcome home, bud."

I manage to get the home in just two weeks, but they pass in such a whirlwind that I can't say if it flew by and slunk its way into the present. To account for my lack of a job, I did my best to help Charlotte around the house while she brought different rounds of children in. I liked them all, learned a little about their tantrums and how to care for them. I still looked forward to seeing Maisy the most, and she would barge in with her arms filled with rolled up sketch paper and lunge for me, screaming, "Lookit this one! It's for you!"

With so much to catch up on, Harvey and I slipped away near nightfall for drinks, which cut into his perfectly scheduled life, but he knew I needed it and I knew I needed it so we went. A few men tried to buy me drinks, a girl one time, but I wouldn't take a drink from a stranger ever again. Maybe not even a friend.

When I turned them all down, Harvey pursed his lips but I shook my head.

"I'm waiting for Harry," I said, each time.

But back to my house, which I love immensely but after staying with Charlotte and her herd for two weeks it felt so quiet that I my own echo made me flinch. When I met with the over eager agent-a short man with a bald patch and round spectacles-he opened with a long winded apology about how they _tried_ to get me the house within days but _paperwork_ and _life_ and he went on and on.

He was the type of man who seemed to always been bouncing on his toes, like a boxer in his corner of the ring, and he came out flying, punching you with word after word. Honestly, he fascinated me too much for me to tell him to shut up and hand me my keys.

When he did hand them over, pumping my hand in a vigorous shake, the first thing I thought was that I had a shit ton of furniture to buy. The stored offered to deliver everything to me, help set it up, but as I sat on the counter and watched them move around me, I felt unsettled in a way I used to be all the time.

I'd been perpetually on the edge of some event, some sale or some run or something of anything really, but now I was at ends. Where did my journey start now that I'd found this place? This couldn't be it, could it?

That moment lead to now; me in the streets, scarf bundled against the knot of anxiety stuck in my throat, trying to find something that would bring a little change. A help wanted sign would even do. Unfortunately, most of the stores are family owned businesses, and the children serve as the main employers. With a frustrated groan, I duck into the bookstore, really just trying to get away from the cold. Once inside, I nearly run down a woman clutching a coffee in her hands.

"I'm so sorry," I sputter attempting to right her I some form or the other and really she's so small it's like moving around a doll. One look and I know she has at least a dozen years on me, but there is something frantically youthful about her; maybe her long, wild hair or her immaculate nails. I'm not sure, but she's hushing me with apologizes and neither of us move from the door.

Then her face alights.

"You must be Louis!"

"I am," I agree, but how the hell does she know me?

"My name is Margot," she announces with a flourish, and I can tell she's said it many times in the same way. "My sister is Charlotte, you know. Come sit, chat with me!"

Just like that, she's got that pretty manicure dug into my coat, dragging me over to one of the couches in the store. A little coffee sloshes onto her dark jeans, but she doesn't flinch.

"Charlotte says that Harvey says that you used to act."

"Jesus!" I laugh. Me, acting. Well, acting in the theatrical, entertainment sense. "It was one play-the school production of Grease. I can't quite call that-"

"You will try out for our newest play then!" she exclaims. After a bit of wild scrambling, she pulls out a thick piece of paper from her designer bag. Peering in, I can see several copies just like it, as well as a makeup bag, a pair of shoes, and what looks suspiciously like an umbrella. Great, Mary Poppins has me cornered in a coffee shop and she means to turn me into a songbird for a failed revolution in historical France.

I just wanted a job answering phones or something.

"Here-a few lines from each character-we haven't cast anyone just yet-oh dearie, I didn't ask if you could sing. But you can try, yes? All the information is there. All of it!"

I take it from her, just to keep her from shoving it in my face in her zeal.

"Not to be rude miss…ah…."

"Margot," she reminds me, with as much excitement as she has proclaimed everything else.

"Ah…yeah…Margot. I did mention I'd been in one play, right? In…erm…high school? Meaning years ago?"

"That's fine, darling." She pronounced it like _dah-ling_. "But what an actor needs to know is pain and suffering to be truly determined. Oh yes, happy people can work hard and learn lines and be brilliant, but truly miserably people-they'll do anything to turn into someone else for a day."

Her eyes level into me, and for the first time she is serious.

"You are an actor."

She leaves me with that, a prickling of something tip toeing its way up my spine. Not forbidding, but awareness, hope. I'm inclined to trust her words because I want some penance for my suffering, even if it has been my own doing.

"Then I shall be seeing you soon, I hope."

And with as much flourish as she had introduced herself, she whips out of the store and leaves me feeling as if I had zero choice in the matter.

The paper sits on my table for four days before Maisy, of all people, is the one to pick it up. Charlotte lets her visit me when she should be visiting Charlotte-probably because Maisy throws a fit when she can't be around me. It's flattering, really.

"What's this?"

"A story," I tell her, pouring us some tea. Though she isn't much for the average girl activity, she actually wants to have a tea party, with stuffed animals. The whole nine yards.

"What kind of story?" she pesters.

Shit. How do I fucking make Les Miserables sound happy to a child?

"One where everyone sings," I decide. And then gets shot, I add. Only in my mind. That's not right either thought. Some get shot, some commit suicide. Victor Hugo wasn't selective about the misery inflicted upon his characters.

"It's for what aunty does?" Maisy guesses. She calls Margot aunty, and even though they should probably clash they adore each other. Margot was Maisy's favorite before me.

"Yeah, isn't that neat?"

"So you gonna sing?"

I stiffen. I hadn't been planning on it. Harry was the last to see my acting and I didn't think he was a good judge of my skill. I could have burped my lines and he would have called it art.

"I'm not sure, babe. It would take a lot of time….a lot of practice….."

She nods, but I see a sliver of disappointment in her eyes and that's when I know I'm really fucked because I can't let her down, even though she doesn't understand it. Even if she would only be disappointed for a heartbeat before something else stole her attention.

After I walk her back over to Charlottes and turn down the dinner invitation, I pull on a pair of Harry's sweatpants, make myself snug on the couch, and start reading lines.

I didn't exactly mean to become a Brightside Player. To be frank, the audition was more of joke than anything else. Well, not necessarily a joke but maybe a bit of an ease of my conscious. Just for that face Maisy had made when she learned I wouldn't be singing in tights.

Harvey had shoved off some of his books on me about the history of the theatre, when he realized I was learning lines.

Next thing I know he's waking me up before the sun has half a mind to rise and ushering me over to an audition, one I knew had been taking place but my brain had kind of removed itself from the idea that I would actually make it.

"I haven't practiced much of the singing part," I protested.

In response, he shoved the script at me.

"Harv, I can't possible memorize the rest of this before we get there! And it's a musical! I haven't sang in front of people in years."

"Excuses!" Harvey had said crossly. "Just take the time to memorize a few lines while the other auditions are going on. They'll only need to hear a line; then they'll be sold." At my expression, he shook his head and added, "For me?" When I didn't answer, he gutted me. "For Maisy."

Bastard.

"Fine."

I studied the script, skimming through the roles. I knew most of the songs by heart anyway, due to Zayn going through a phase where he watched every musical he could get his hands on and then he bought the damn soundtracks. But I hadn't thought so much about what role I wanted. Jean Valjean? As if; everyone would want that role and I should really stress _one fucking high school play_ to everyone. But a lesser role, maybe? Something a bit smaller. And then I decided. Marius.

Who falls in love with reckless enthusiasm, who is ready to toss it all away in a moment and he does, almost ruins everything because no one stopped to think. That's why the musicals had always rubbed me the wrong way; if the idiots stopped singing to the sky and started thinking a whole lot could have been solved in a day's time.

Harvey drove me to the Rec center, dropping me off at the end of ridiculously long line that contains more people than the town's population. Perhaps Charlotte wasn't exaggerating the popularity of this particular group of actors, and everyone in line was biting on their pencil erasers, mouthing the words, and I stood with my hands in my pockets, feeling awkward.

A woman flounced down the line, handing out numbers and chatting briefly but professionally with a few of the returning actors. The closer she got to me, the more I felt like I should turn and run. Something kept me there, though. Maybe the thought of Harry, of wanting to make him proud. Maybe the thought of Maisy. Fuck, I don't know. But if I stayed in that house all day every day I would go mad.

So I stayed, flipped through the song titles in my head and chose the Marius centric one-Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.

Appropriate.

So appropriate.

When I auditioned, I sang without much thought, sang as if it were just Zayn and myself, alone in our fancy apartment in New York, trying to drown our loneliness in someone else's. When I finished, they didn't stand and clap or anything, but Margot nodded at me with this twinkle in her eye.

There are things you just kind of know in life.

Like tea is better than coffee and rock music will never die and you should stay away from curly haired boys because they are all menaces and there is nothing better than holding a little girl's hand as she runs away from ocean tide like it's a ludicrous game of tag between her and nature.

And when a crazy woman is sated, it means that she has had her way.

After that, Louis might not have existed, because I had to learn absolutely everything about Marius so I could become him. When they posted the list on the doors, everyone jostling to see their names, girls storming away crying, I just wanted to laugh.

"Who the fuck is Louis Tomlinson?" someone asked.

"He's Marius," said another girl, missing the spite entirely.

This is how I became a part of the tight wearing brigade of people that sang rather that solve their problems.

Fuck.

Much the same way time used to be something I had mass quantities of, I now had too much to do. The last scraps of my money from prostitution are paying bills for a bit, but I have no time for anything else but living, breathing, and dreaming about becoming a love struck Marius during a time of upset in the delicate ages of Paris.

It is a true delight, and another insane coincidence really, to find that Jade, one of the girls who rode in the limo with us to prom, would be Eponine. When I introduced myself, she perked up and reminded me of who she was, said she had seen my name on the list and couldn't believe it.

I wondered if everyone just moved over here once they got bored elsewhere.

I enjoy those roots though, the reminders that some other life had existed beyond my former, and less desired.

So Les Miserables became my life. I don't have the patience for shit, but Charlotte bought me the audio book so I wouldn't be subjected to reading it, as everyone was encouraged (force) to do.

It puts me to sleep every night.

One night, while the girls were playing in the snow and Charlotte and I sat on the cold porch swing, she turned and asked me if Harvey would have made it if I had never stood up to Bumper. She's been full of questions such as that one. It's a golden one though, one I had never stopped to consider. Of course, Charlotte knew everything at this point. Tell her secrets came so natural, so much so that I didn't even feel embarrassed when she slipped her arms around me and cried for me.

Maisy called for me to help make a snowman, but I thought Charlotte deserved an answer first.

"I believe we'd all be exactly where we are now. Maybe not at this point in time, but someday. And think we all were given a finish line at birth and we'll all be reaching it. No matter what path we take."

"That can be seen as exceptionally morbid," she had pointed out.

"Not if the finish line is paved with gold." I smirked as her lips twitch. "I mean it figuratively, love. This isn't so bad, huh?"

She shook her head as Maisy, ever persistent, stormed back over and tugs me up from the seat.

"Not bad at all," I hear her say just as I'm leaving.

It was soft and sincere, meant more for the wind than for my ears, but I heard it all the same.

Someone must have let it slip in some form or the other, but my association with Harry became the subject of much interest in the group. Harry never hesitated to speak of me on the radio or telly, so people knew that he still cared for me, and that we'd been at some point a thing, but I wish they didn't. They asked questions like I had Harry on speed dial to answer them.

I brushed them off, but it sucked because I would have loved to answer their questions just to prove I still had a connection with him.

It isn't until we were nearing the end of our practices that Jade suggests the one thing that makes sense. We are backstage, relaxing in the fact that lines were memorized and now we were just perfecting things.

"That's a lovely line, huh?"

I have to pull my earphones out and say a brilliant, "Huh?"

She rolls her eyes and waved her hand at the stage. They were focusing on Jean Valjean's part at the moment; Lisa, my Cosette, and I would come in later.

"'To love another person is to see the face of God'."

"What do I do if I don't believe in God?"

I don't know if I didn't, but still, it is a fair enough question. But not one enough to silence Jade.

"Then imagine it this way; to love another person is to know that the absolute meaning of your life is with them. That everything you could ever hope to achieve could not be done without waking up by their side."

I mull that over for the longest, thinking about how nothing made sense until I met Harry and then nothing worked and made even less sense when I was away from him.

"You still love Harry very much, right?"

"Of course I do," I let it slip so easily. But it's the truth, so why not?

"Invite him to the show."

"Excuse me?"

I'm nearly sputtering in disbelief.

"Oh don't look like that. You look so much better these days Louis. More full of life. Playing pranks and stuff like Niall used to say you did around the house. It's worth a shot?"

"So you think I have to send him an invitation. And if he shows, I know that he stills cares?"

He probably will show though, if I invite him, but the thing is….do I deserve him yet? Or, God forbid, what if he brings another guy with him? To tell me he's sorry, he's moved on, but he's glad I finally got my pitiful life together?

She nods.

"Exactly."

The mere thought paralyzes me with fear.

A week before opening night, I'm in Harvey's home, helping Charlotte wash dishes. The place is quiet; the girls aren't staying tonight and Harvey has dozed off in his arm chair like an old man. Seeing him so spent has gotten me really feeling bad, which is why I've offered to take Maisy off their hands every time she comes over. Well, I also really want to spend time with her, but at least I can claim some sort of nobility in my own satisfaction.

As I'm regarding the wet spot on my shirt, Charlotte reaches out and touches my hand softly.

"Louis?"

"Yeah?" I blink at the physical contact. Charlotte isn't the type to be gentle and reassuring to anyone besides the kids.

"Your aunt called. Aunt Sandy, she said her name was?"

Aunt. My aunt Sandy called. The words make zero sense in the context of this home, this town. Of this time.

"Called…who?"

"Harvey, trying to get in touch with you." Charlotte shifts a little, knowing that the subject is tender. "Says you've changed your number so much they can't keep track of you, but she really wanted to talk."

All of me tenses, leaning away from the conversation, but Charlotte's jaw is set and she means to pursue it. Harvey really picked a stubborn woman.

"She wants to talk….before she goes."

Sandy had been suffering from cancer for nearly six years now, something I knew that she didn't know I knew. I'd been impressed with her strength when she was tossing me from her home and telling me to never come back.

"She wanted to talk about you adopting Maisy darling….she's willing to vouch nothing but good words for you despite….."

"Despite that fact that I've killed so many people?" I bite out harshly. She flinches, and I feel so guilty that I backpedal. "Maisy needs a good family. A good home….a good something. Not me, I already told you everything that happened to me and you want to try and hand her over to me?"

Charlotte abandons the dishes and guides me over to the table, and it's then that I realize I'm shaking.

"Louis. Everything you've done wrong has been nothing more than a mistake, and that's okay. Your aunt is dying and wants to make peace for everything. But she…she mentioned something odd."

And now she'll say it; I can tell something is bothering at her, pulling away at the strings in her consciousness. I give her that time, wait for her to arrange the sentence and take a deep breath. I take one as well, and I'm so glad because the last thing in the world I expect slips from her mouth.

"She said she forgives you for Lottie, which I didn't quite understand. You said all your sisters died but she implied…."

"She's survived the crash," I say, voice so soft that Charlotte leans in and tilts her head to hear better.

"She's alive?"

"Was, yeah." I want to leave it there, but I've confused her and maybe it would be nice to have someone know. I'd come so close to telling Harry before, especially at Gemma's funeral.

"We had a headstone made, they told us she wouldn't make it through the coma and my uncle…he never thought much for us. When she awoke, she had no memory at all, and I got down on my knees and begged my aunt to let Lottie start somewhere new, where she wouldn't have to remember it all. You see, I'd already started in on the business and I knew there wasn't any getting out. My aunt and uncle were notorious drunks, which was fine for them but not okay for a child. They didn't fight all that hard to keep her."

Charlotte is stunned, leaning away from me, mouth opening and closing. It can't be that much of a shock for her, since she hadn't known the false story for so long, but she's the lone one that knows. Harry doesn't know. Zayn suspected, quiet strongly, but he let me have that privacy.

"But Louis…."

"She didn't make it that far, not as far away as I thought," I say, smiling tightly. " I knew where her house was before I knew the family's name, knew what she looked like because a couple of times I passed her in town. But I never imagined…." I clear my throat.

"They didn't keep her real name, either, which disappointed me, but I was just so grateful someone would adopt her, love her. And they did love her. Everyone did."

I look away, watch the clock hands spin in their lazy circle.

"What did they call her?" Charlotte presses, but I want her to know something else, while I'm spilling my guts like I never have before.

"When I crashed, the car flipped a few times. When I crawled out, I was leaving these smears of blood behind me, and I felt like someone was draining me alive. I guess technically I was being drained alive. But I looked back and I heard her….Lottie…calling for me. I tried to crawl back in, but there was glass in my stomach, it hurt so much. Then someone strolled along, so casually."

The throbbing is back, just behind my brow bone. I hate it.

"I remember looking up, there was all this snow falling in my face and blood in my eyes, but I thought he was taller than anyone I'd ever seen before. Something about him looked like a survivor and I needed that. I begged him to get Lottie out, to call for help, and just as casually as he is talking about the color of my fucked up car, he says, 'You'll owe me'. And I said that of course I would, for the rest of my life, I would do anything if he helped her."

We are quiet again. Harvey's snores are gone, and maybe he is listening but my God someone is finally going to know. Someone will finally know everything and I want them to so badly.

"His name was Bumper," I explain, testing the softness of my voice. "And he carried Lottie to the hospital while I followed, and I kind of crawled after him and everything hurt but I had to keep her in sight. He'd been standing in some of my blood, and he was leaving all these awful, bloody boot prints. But I followed him. During her coma I sold for the first time, all prepared to cave under the medical bills. But when the option came to give Lottie a better home, I had to give that to her."

"And you said she ended up close by?" Charlotte asked, still quiet. Everything is so quiet here. I can still hear the snowfalls, Bumper's boot prints soaked with my blood snaking up a hill….

"Yeah."

I stand, finish the dishes by myself while reciting a few lines from the musical under my breath. Just doing something until I can work up the nerve to finish the rest of my confession. Charlotte, to her credit, waits, fingers wrapped around a coffee mug until everything is drained and the sun has hidden itself away in the ocean.

My fingers linger over a single plate-it's Maisy's plate. Pink with yellow sunflowers, chipped on the side from some even I wasn't here for. With Maisy, it's almost like I get a second chance. An undeserved but so badly needed second chance.

"Her new family….they called her Gemma."

I talk to my aunt, and it doesn't feel amazing to hear her forgive me but it does help. When I hang up the phone, Charlotte is waiting to spring me. Being around her is almost awkward, now that she knows more about me than basically anyone and I've known her for such a short time.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Dinner," I tell her honestly. "I'm thinking of pasta, but perhaps some tacos would do-"

"No I mean with Harry," she cuts me off, lips twisting only a little. "When are going to decide you deserve to be with him or whatever?"

The question is a good one, because I can't quite answer it myself. I don't know if I'll ever deserve Harry, and now I have another lie to add to the large list between us.

"Maybe never," I reply honestly. "But I don't know. I think when something changes that everyone can see."

Wordlessly, she hands me a stack of papers and stalks off, like she'd guessed what my answer would be but that's impossible but so possible because she's handed me the paperwork to adopt Maisy Renee Tanner, originally from a small fishing village in England with a long name that I can't quite pronounce. Also, tucked under the heavy duty paper clip, is a formal invitation to our opening night.

The only thing missing is a blank in the first line, one of those insert the names yourself deals.

'_**Blank, it is my honor to invite you to the Brightside Players production of…'**_

Blah. Blah.

I can fill in blanks.

Despite my indignation at her assumptions, I can't help but to admire her. She's right. Always right. When I write his name, it's with a shaky hand I know he'll notice and I hope he doesn't laugh. I try to steady myself as I get to work on the monstrous paperwork for adoption.

I sent the address to the his main house in L.A., and almost sent a text to Zayn requesting that he made sure that Harry received it. Then I opt to leave it up to fate. If he comes to the show, great. Well, fantastic but I didn't want to pin such an excitable adjective on the event lest I receive the disappointment of my life. And there have been many.

I would know what was meant to be at the end of the opening night.

I am not nervous, per say, but I do feel a bubbling excitement as more and more people pack themselves into the massive auditorium. It has an old class and elegant feel, with people in upper wings and people in suits tailored to their bodies and people with jewelry far too elegant for this simple beach town. Too many people with too much, but the more that poured in the more excited I became. They were here just to watch us preform. Made an even out of this even in our lives, and that was monumental.

Harvey and Charlotte wait in the back wings for me, Charlotte clutching a bunch of flowers in one hand, the other extended to clutch at Maisy. I almost don't notice them, as lost as I am in the pre-show exhilaration, but Jade nudges me and spins me towards them, laughing and telling me to get it all together.

"You guys didn't have to come," I tell them as I approach. I don't mention that they did have to, or what I was about to do wouldn't be as great.

Maisy tugs away from Charlotte to wrap her arms around my leg. When she smiles up at me, she's all baby teeth and the faintest hint of grape suckers on the worry marks in her lips. I'm sure Charlotte did her best to scrub the purple away.

"But I'm glad you did," I add, watching her give me a grin. "Are you ready to hear Lou-Lou sing?"

She nods fiercely as Harvey laughs.

"You'll be surprised, babe. He's not half-bad. Probably sounds better in the shower, but I never complained too much."

"Get to your seats," I say, feigning grumpiness. "I won't stand here and be insulted."

"Come along, Maisy." Charlotte stretches her arm out again. Maisy reluctantly peels herself away from me and takes Charlotte's hand again. As I watch them walk away, I'm filled with an overwhelming sadness that I wouldn't have a chance in hell of ever adopting that kid. Even if I could have provided a good life for her, even if I spent days going over the paperwork, retrieving documents I previously had no access to. I hadn't even known where my driver's license had gotten to. A plus option for a parent.

"Louis?"

His voice is like being struck by lightning; it fills me with energy and a contradicting numbness in my lips. My mind is both in overdrive and frozen on the twist of the syllables in his mouth. I'd been a wreck all day, thinking there was no way he'd show. He hadn't responded to the invitation.

But I look up, and there he is, roses in hand, his lithe body accentuated in a tight charcoal suit and a deep red vest. His hair looks a mess, like he'd run his hands through it one times to many but it doesn't matter because all the girls are staring at him, several boys, and he's only staring at me.

"I got your invitation," he says, as if that much isn't clear. He's nervous, shifting his weight to another foot as he gauges my reaction. "Was it a mistake?"

"No," I finally say, finding my voice. "I just didn't think you'd actually…."

"I can go," he says, taking a step back as if he means to at that exact moment.

The action is horribly familiar; I'd said the same to him back in New York, so eager to start our desperate chase all over again. We couldn't go back to that; I'd die.

"No! Stay. I'd hate for you to go without hearing me sing. I won't be half as good as you, of course, but my acting should make up for it, right?"

He offers a tentative smile, and it feels like a white flag on a bloodied battlefield.

"Of course it will, babe." The hairs on my arms stand up at the pet name. God. "I know you'll take everyone by surprise, that everyone is going to give you a standing ovation. You'll be taking this show on the road too, won't you?"

"Yeah, we'll be going all around England and then a few places in America. Who would of that a tiny acting company from a town like this could be so popular?"

He chuckles softly and steps closer to me, pressing the bouquet into my hands. I watch as his eyes skim over my costume, my gelled hair, until he rests to staring into my eyes with gentle affection.

"Just don't forget who your number one fan is."

"Not ever," I say, appalled. "How could I possibly think to do such a thing?"

He bends down and presses a kiss on my forehead before stepping away. I'm consumed with panic. No, that can't be it. He can't leave and leave us back at the beginning. I hate square one. I hope square one burns in hell.

"I'll see you after the show, right?" he asks, before I can dart my hand out and keep him anchored to me.

"Yeah, we can go grab dinner. Take a walk on the beach," I say in a rush, hoping he didn't pick up on the wild desperation bubbling underneath my skin. But he's all smiles, soft fingertips on my face, and I nod and it's okay then that he kisses me.

It's okay that the second time I see Harry Styles cry is during the best moment of my life.

"I have so much to tell you," I breathe. "I just don't want to disappoint you again…push you away…I'm so sick of us chasing each other in a circle."

"No more running," Harry agrees.

People are hurrying around us, calling out encouragement as we get ready to go on stage. I'd forgotten about all those people outside.

"What makes this time different though?" Harry asks. I don't blame him for being cautious after everything. "I just…just need to know if after the show I need to do a few running stretches.'  
A laugh escapes me, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"What's changed, Giraffe, is that I've finally been entirely honest with someone. And I hate that that someone wasn't you." I brush at some nonexistent dirt on the front of his jacket. "But I'll tell you, and then we can pick up where we left off…."

"Nah," Harry replies, and I look up, afraid, before he goes on. "Let's start it over. Not so far, but back to before the real lies started, and I haven't been so honest with you either, love. Which is why the ending has to have all the…well…strings tied up before we can go back."

"And what have you been lying about?" I tease. I don't expect a serious answer.

"Back in New York….when I got so angry at you for doing, well you know, it was because Niall…."

"I know," I interrupt, because it's apparent the story is causing him great pain. "Niall told me, and Zayn knew."

Harry nods miserably.

"Niall was misguided, but not bad. He didn't see it as cheating on Liam because he was just trying to make their relationship better. But the first time he went, he told me about seeing this boy there, with blue eyes and red hair and he said he would be just my type if he could just pull his shit together."

"That was the last string," I say. I make a motion with my hands suggesting as much, suggesting it being tied into a neat little bow. "I've got it all right now, Hazza. I've got this house, got this acting deal…"

I look into his eyes.

"This stupid boyfriend who thinks jumping into a crowd full of hormonally charge female fans is a bloody brilliant idea and why I can't possibly imag-"

He cuts me, off, gathers me to him and lifts me up a little. While I'm impressed by his strength, I'm more impressed at how hungry he looks as scans my face.

"You drive me insane, Tomlinson." Then he kisses me again, and it's like slipping under water, being lulled by a current. "And I'll see you after your show, and we'll make sure everything is all right. I can't live with it not being that way."

He sets me down, moves back towards the exit before we make the mistake of mussing my costume up further. Just before he goes though, I feel the need to call out to him.

"Harry!"

He turns, hand fumbling for the doorknob behind him.

"Yes?" I love that smirk, and I can't wait to see it every day. Important things have been tattooed on me, things I need to remember and like to remember but I won't ever have to tattoo Harry's likeness on my body or search for the letters of his name anymore because I will work on the mess between us until I can wake up to him always.

"I love you," I say, calm even though everything in me is like a flower blooming; my chest is expanding and it's like my mind understands silence for the first time ever.

His grin widens, slants to the side and puts that single chipped tooth on display.

"I love you too."

I needed to say it, just in case, but I wouldn't worry. Not anymore.

And I can still see it, that dawning moment, the window being cracked open. We're taking these baby steps forward and I can see it; the sun breaking across the horizon, slanting and slicing through the darkness until it rests just at this moment, leaving hope spilling into view.

"Mail call!"

Everyone in the room perked up, save for me. Mainly because I didn't hear it at first, with my earphones in and Harry's newest song playing gently in my ear, but there are telltale signs of mail call and one of them is the entire room rushing to Margot.

I shoved my iPod in my jacket pocket and stand to follow the crowd gathering around her. She snips at everyone to get back, waving us away as if we were a flock of birds.

"Honestly! You all act as if we don't give out mail once a week."

Everyone steps away, hanging back obediently, and really it all looked a bit odd with everyone's hair immaculately styled for the play but our clothing is sweatpants and t-shirts or in many cases jumpsuits. Easy to get out of without messing up makeup or hair, you see.

"Jade, here's one from the girls, and another from the girls, and oh my they really stuffed these envelopes again.….Steven, a letter from your parents…."

It goes on and on, until I press my hand over to my mouth to cover a yawn and almost sit back down.

"Louis….another letter from Harvey….a package from Harry Styles…."

A few whistles and cheers erupt, as they do every time Harry sends mail. Every single time.

I told the dork we should just text, and we do, but there is something romantic about letters (his phrasing, not mine).

I always saved Harry's mail for last, because I anticipated it the most, but today I anticipate Harvey's mail so much that I tear the letter open and drink in the words without hesitation.

All good news.

_**Wonderful news, Lou. The papers are going through in good time. When you get back from the big tour, we can try to help speed it all along. They were reluctant about handing Maisy over to a single man, but your Aunt left a wonderful word on how you raised your sisters. When we told Maisy that you would be her new Daddy (you will be, even if it kills me), she burst into tears. The good kind, I think, because she got out her Barbie suitcase immediately and asked to leave before dinner.**_

_**Probably because you give her pizza instead of green beans but we won't be mentioning that to anyone.**_

_**I think everything will go by faster once you spill the fact that you are involved with the famous Harry Styles. He's got the world wrapped around his little finger, you know, Maisy included. But I know you want to do this by yourself.**_

_**Send more news soon.**_

_**Oh! Did I tell you? We saw you on television! It was on a fashion segment. Another good review, as well as a good review on your play. **_

_**Looks like your gathering a little fame of your own.**_

_**Cheers!**_

_**XXX**_

_**Charlotte and Harvey.**_

My face already aches from the intensity of my grin as I pick up the package from Harry and carefully tear it open. I pull the newest items first; a hand braided bracelet from his trip to Africa, a couple of photos, chocolates, and a thick letter.

I skim through the photos, smiling as I go. There is one of Zayn and Liam standing on the Great Wall of China, Ray Bands obscuring their faces and catching the reflections of the cloudy sky overhead. Another of Anne kissing Harry on the cheek as he clutches his guitar. I can tell he was about to go on stage, wearing one of my sweaters with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. They would have been too short otherwise.

The third is one of Harry standing in front of the Eiffel tower, smiling and holding up a sign.

_**Wish you were here, Louis!**_

A wide heart is drawn around my name in a red marker.

I smile, until I feel ready to burst with happiness. I stand and tuck the pictures into the corners of my dressing room mirror. They were already over spilling with memories, from the first and older pictures me and Harry took together to the recent ones.

The one where we met up again at the opening of the play, when we walked on the beach and he took my hand, and I was honest and he told me he suspected about Gemma too, but had wanted me to say it in my own time. Then we let all the poison between us bleed away, into the ocean, and we started over then, not with everything forgotten but with a better destination in mind. It was as if we had never been separated.

Not for a second, sure as hell not for two years. He held out his phone, angled it so that we caught the moonlight, and I tucked my head into his neck as he took the picture.

We couldn't exactly do as Zayn and Liam did, closing discussions, forgiving the scars before examining them properly. There was too much forgiving but not enough forgetting.

It was all spelled out so simply though, as I told him over dinner that very same night.

"I can't live my life entirely happy without you, and I think you feel the same."

It's the boldest I'd ever been, but I was rewarded with a nod.

"One thousand percent true."

And then his eyes flickered over me again, appraising me. I looked better, healthier. Marius had a revolution to take part in; he couldn't be a scrawny stick. I'd bulked up, took to the healthiest life style I could live while Charlotte insisted on all her fabulous home cooked meals.

Things were okay.

The last thing in the package besides the letter is a magazine article, of Harry walking down the street holding the hand of someone with a hoodie pulled up around them and sun glasses on. A caption nearby said, 'Nice try Louis! _We_ see you!'.

I laughed it at, startling Amy next to me.

"Is Harry really that funny?"

"He thinks he is," I say, brushing it off so easily. I liked that she asked me about him, trusted me to know the answer. Of course I knew the answer.

The article is only from a couple of days ago, but the picture of us walking together was a couple of weeks old, from his break in the world tour when he came and followed the show for a couple of days with me. Instead of going home and resting like he was supposed to.

Everyone was star struck around him, but I felt it kind of silly that people cared now that he sang. I'd been star struck by him from the first second, when he still suffered from that weird insomnia and hid behind an overprotective Liam.

The article went deeper as to predict that we were engaged, and that we were waiting for things to settle down with our respective tours before digging into the wedding plans.

I opened the letter, greeted by bold words in black in at the top of the page.

_**Oh damn, they figured it out!**_

_**Haha just kidding. **_

_**Can't complain too much though, at the thought. It would be shame to keep hiding a lovely ring. Have you heard any news from Harvey concerning Maisy? I'm not half as anxious as you are, I know, but I still really want to know if we will be having a new addition to the house, and I really hope we do.**_

_**The tour is certainly getting that winding down feel and I love it. I'll be able to join you for your last couple of shows and then we can head home. I bet Maisy is missing you immensely, and hopefully me as well. **_

_**I can't wait to see your face again; I know it hasn't been long but I've almost forgotten what it looks like. You've got brown eyes, right? **_

_**Kidding again babe. I love your hazel eyes. **_

_**I got yet another tattoo; this time a butterfly. I can see you rolling your eyes now, but keep in mind I can't help that you're covered in rock tattoos and I need my hippie fix. Somethings just don't change, do they?**_

_**I went back to the old tattoo parlor, just for memories sake, and dropped off a little bit of your letter so they could start copying your handwriting. I'll get it down when we head home, sound good? I know you're itching for a new one as well, but you've already done the extremes and gotten a full back piece and my name. What now, Monsieur Marius?**_

_**How do you top that? **_

_**I'll have to run now, and I apologize for this letter being so short and drab. But really, with nine days to go until I see you again, I'm trying to save my words. Not that I'll need them that much. **_

_**See you soon, love. **_

_**Harry Xxx : )**_

The piece of the letter he refers to is from my last letter, where I told him I wouldn't be running again, that I was always here, waiting for him. He wanted the line immediately, he told me. 'Always Here', in my handwriting, just over his heart.

I told him to go for it, that I meant it so it couldn't possibly hurt anything.

I pressed my earphones back in and smiled, scanning the pictures framing my mirror.

Harry wearing his flower crowns on stage, forever dressed in his flowing, hippie shirts. Harry giving the peace sign to the paps while sporting his circle shaped sun glasses. No things wouldn't ever really change, and that was okay with me. The basis of everything was so perfect, why did it matter?

"Louis?"

Margot tapped on my shoulder, reaching to hand another envelope to me.

"I forgot about one. I just wanted you to know I'll keep the spot open for you, no matter how long it takes."

I beam up at her.

"Even if it takes years?"

She gives me a funny look, as if I don't believe her.

"Of course Louis. You know as well as I do that your tattoos limit you now, but as a director, you'll be flawless."

The thing is, it doesn't hurt my feelings. I know most characters didn't have smatterings of tattoos, that I was luck Marius wore a longer sleeved costume. But I don't care. As long as I was close to the theatre, drinking it in, I was okay. And it wasn't like I was cut off from that many jobs. They made the best tattoo cover-up now. The thing was, I'd have to be coated in it.

"Let's see if they'll even have me…."

She sits on the edge of Amy's chair while I carefully open the official looking envelope.

"It's a lot Louis…especially in such a short time." Her eyes move from Harvey's opened letter on my lap to my hand to the letter I was now opening.

"Could you handle it all?"

Before I might have said no. It was a lot to do, a lot of stress and pressure and a great deal of change compared to the peaceful life of walks on the beach alone and drama practice I had been used to in the months before opening night.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I pull out the letter and suck in my breath.

"Well?" Margot asks, leaning in.

"I'm in," I tell her, partly in disbelief.

She squeals and throws her arms around me, squeezing me tight.

"I knew it! Any uni would kill to have you on with them! You've got great credentials as of now…oh Louis, you'll make the best drama instructor, and you've got the job the second you graduate."

She pulls away, dabbing at her eyes with great fervor.

"Oh, I just told you that. But it's a reminder. My, Louis, you've got so much on you now. Traveling with a brilliant group of actors, an adoption, UNI…."

She trails off, not bothering to add the other stuff.

"Can you handle it?"

"Of course," I reply instantly. I knew I could, or I wouldn't have taken it all on. After all, I have the strongest rock to keep my leveled. With Harry, Charlotte, Harvey, and Maisy, I had so much support I doubted life could knock me down if it tried.

Margot pulls away, all sniffles and snatching at my box of tissues.

"Well, let's smash this. Six more shows!"

She steels herself in the center of the room and begins her usual tirade of rushing the actors and actresses out, into their clothes and backstage, where a crowd of thousands are waiting. I had been so in awe of Harry the first time I saw him address so many people, but I love that feeling now. So many people, watching every move you make. And all of them cared, but the best part was that when Harry, Harvey, Charlotte, Maisy, Zayn, and Liam all attended the shows, they were the only ones that mattered. The stages could have contained no one but them and I would have performed the same.

"Lou, let's go."

Jade attempts to ruffle my hair playfully, but it's gelled back to perfection and won't budge for a hurricane, much less her small hand.

"I'm moving," I say in my best old man voice. She laughs and watches as I wind my earphones around my iPod and set it on my table. There are security guards to watch the rooms, as well as cameras. No one would dream of stealing from anyone anyway; we are a little family here.

That doesn't stop me from feeling wary as I pull a little jewelry box closer and twist the ring off my left hand. I'd only have to take it off six more times. Then I could wear it forever.

"Does it get hard?" Jade asks, eyeing it. It's a right girl ring, really, with diamonds and a slender silver band, but when Harry told me how it reminded him of me-delicate, but so pure and bright-I couldn't find a single negative thing to say. Not like I had much to start with really, since he was on one knee proposing.

"Taking it off, I mean," Jade added when I remained silent. "Hiding."

"I'm not hiding love," I laugh. Even though I'd worn sunglasses and big hoodies in public with Harry. We were just waiting for the right moment. I told Jade this. "It's knowing. We just need to wait until everything calms down a little, and then we'll announce it. People already know we're back together. It's just a matter of timing."

She links her arm through mine and beams up at me. We'd grown so close throughout this tour, I can't picture what it would be like without her.

"But the answer is no. It's not hard to take it off. After all, it's waiting for me. Every time I get back."

She nods and guides me backstage, where we stand in shadows until that moment comes where the curtain rises and we are thrust into the light.

All I needed was the idea of Harry, that in nine days we'd be back together and I'd wear my ring in public for the first time, and I could really face anything.

Three years ago, I'd been so many pieces of a person, not entirely whole. And now I still had those little patchwork memories, ragged and worn and dark, but this, the largest part of me, would always shine the brightest.

Harry's hand in mine as we darted away from the paparazzi, Zayn and I having a pizza eating contest that ended with puking, Liam and Harvey playing video games while Maisy sat in my lap, drawing and humming Harry's more upbeat songs, Jade and I hitting the highest notes we could, until we sounded like strangled cows, and us together, this ragged family that had connected back to each other and brought more people in. Brightsville is a special place.

Even Zayn and Liam have started looking for a house there, and it shouldn't be that hard. The town is so damn friendly that I strongly suspect that they will damn well build the pair one if they must.

My life, for once, fell exactly in the light instead of on the fence.

I twist the spot on my finger where my ring should be, practically hearing Harry's voice in my head.

'Nine more days'.

Until then, I couldn't wait.

When we got back, I wanted to stop and speak to Niall again, to Gemma, and then settle in and tell my mum about the rest of this story, how extraordinary it was that all these little coincidences lined up and the result was not disastrous like it should have been.

And after that, after I'd affirmed my happy ending, Brightsville was waiting, with its ludicrous houses and friendly residents and there was place there, made just for Harry and myself.

We'd get a dog like he wanted to so desperately, cook dinner for each other, wait out the months until we could have Maisy, and then we'd be a family. We were young, almost too young, but I knew we were doing the right thing and Harry knew and that's the wonder of it all.

Harry and I just know that this it; we are each other's infinities and yeah we kind of hoped that before, but now it's different because we went through hell to have our affirmations and to work through everything so horribly wrong. We had so much against us and so many secrets they could have buried us, and more than that we had every right to walk away from each other because it could have should have would have been far too much for any normal couple. That's why I was glad it happened the way it did, and I say the _way_ and not the simple fact that it did happen period. I would have loved to have kept my sisters and Reggie and Luca and Niall, would have loved for the amount that we lost to not be so overwhelming now that we've crossed the finish line.

But we were here in this time, together, and I couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the world nor would I want to be. No more running or secrets, just today and tomorrow and the next day where we will have each other and our careers and everyone is this whole damn world will see us and have no clue what parts of ourselves were sacrificed for this.

But being in love is never looking to hard towards the future, even though every self-entitled adult will argue that you should always be aware of the future, but then how the fuck do you enjoy the present?

So we don't look so hard, because the present is wrapped in bliss so pure that my mind couldn't fathom another moment existing beyond the absolute perfection of having his ring waiting for me, of all those letters that promised me beautiful things.

Love is not ragged stitches and patchwork pieces necessarily.

It's being so many thousands of pieces, a mosaic of a person with shades of darkness but beautiful memories the colors of wine and grapes and fresh fruit on tress and that shade of summer grass you've never found elsewhere except in someone else's eyes.

Before this all, I would have been scared to stay still, to let everything just be as it was. I'd never had tomorrow guaranteed to be anything worth living for.

But now I had Harry.

Now we know.


End file.
